Resilience Of Marshmallows
by nek0-sama
Summary: Marshmallows are rather curious. They're soft, but not fully malleable. They can withstand a lot of poking and prodding, and can be stretched quite far before they break. Despite not being made of sugar and gelatin, however, one will find that humans are fairly similar to these small white blobs.
1. Part 1

**A/N: **Salutations, everyone! As I'm typing up this Author's Note, the time is nearing eight-thirty pm on the night of December 26th. As I'm sure you all know, 2012 is drawing to a close. In five days time, we will be counting down, eagerly anticipating the arrival of 2013. 

To help usher in the New Year, and all of the projects that I hope to finish, or even to start during that expanse of time, here is the first chapter of my newest story. 

**Disclaimer: Another year is coming to an end, and the unfortunate reality remains that I still have absolutely no claims of ownership to any characters or recognizable elements of the **_**High School Musical **_**universe. They're still © of Disney and Peter Baroschinni. **

**Warning: This is just for you, my lovely Troyella lovers. If it's written by me, and it takes place in the **_**High School Musical**_** universe, expect to see slash****.**** If that gets your panties in a bunch, perhaps you should click the back button to help iron things out. **

**Now, for the rest of you who choose to click on this story, and either know what you're in for, or don't skim past the warnings that I type for your convenience to inform you of what lies ahead in the text, onward we go!**

* * *

Resilience Of Marshmallows

The crisp chill of the late autumn air is strong enough to infiltrate the layers of clothing that Ryan Evans wears. Although he was born and raised in the New England state of Rhode Island, he's resided in Albuquerque, New Mexico, for the past four years of his life. This was ample time for his body to become accustomed to the warmer temperatures natural to the southern region of the country. Upon relocating to New York City, New York, to attend Juilliard, the renowned and highly prestigious performing arts school, he made a note to stock up on attire more suited to the cooler climate.

Being rather small of stature and slender of build, however, he requires just a _bit _more than two shirts, a lined coat, gloves, and a hat, occasionally coupled with earmuffs, depending on whether or not the style of said hat can accommodate them, while traveling to and from Juilliard's campus.

He takes a deep breath, the expelled air puffing out in a faint cloud in front of him, and then enters one of the numerous Starbucks that line the corners of the bustling city's streets. The door closes behind him, muffling the sounds of the morning traffic.

Warm air greets him, and mellow atmospheric music plays over the speakers. The establishment is classy enough to warrant a feeling not unlike belonging. If Ryan blocks out his surroundings, he can almost pretend that he's lounging about his family's resort, or walking through the mall in Albuquerque, carrying bags filled with his sister, Sharpay's purchases from various stores, instead of being thousands of miles away from the people that he knows and loves.

A group of five or so people are gathered around the counter. Several other customers have chosen to take a seat while consuming their morning coffees and/or pastries.

Ryan pushes aside his brief pang of homesickness and anxiety. _No one's staring at you_, he instructs himself. _Just walk up to the counter and wait in line. Act like you've done this before. _As he approaches the counter, however, he stops, struck by intense familiarity upon catching a glimpse of the shaggy, side-swept brunette hair of one of the male baristas. He shakes off the ache in his chest, and his immediate thought regarding the identity of the brunette. He continues to move toward the counter, preparing to shrug the similarity off as a mere coincidence.

Then, the barista raises his head, giving Ryan a clear view of his unmistakable boyish smile and ocean blue eyes.

Ryan's heart leaps into his throat. _Troy…?! _He would recognize that sun-kissed face anywhere. The question of, _What on earth is Troy Bolton doing _here_?_ immediately dominates his mind. When Ryan had last spoken to the brunette, Troy was due to set out for California to attend the University of Berkeley. Troy had chosen to attend that school as a means of being closer to Gabriella Montez, his, "Einsteinette", as Ryan had once dubbed her, girlfriend, whom accepted an early enrollment in the Freshman Honors program at Stanford University during the last month or so of their senior year of high school.

That Troy has, nearly a month into the school year, wound up on the opposite side of the continent from the person who he claimed, "inspires his heart", is very peculiar and unexpected, indeed.

It seems that Troy has recognized Ryan, as well. His brilliant blue eyes are locked on the smaller blond, and they widen ever so slightly. For a moment, his brows knit together, and he mouths, "Ryan…?", confusion evident in his features.

Ryan nods, throwing in a wave for good measure to affirm that it is, in fact, _Ryan Evans_ standing in line at a Starbucks in New York City, a few feet away from _Troy Bolton_.

The confusion on Troy's face instantaneously dissipates, replaced by that smile that causes Ryan's heart to race as if he's just finished an expertly choreographed, rigorous song and dance routine.

A big, what Ryan can only describe as, "love drunk", smile breaks out on Ryan's own fair face. He could never restrain that involuntary upward tugging on the corners of his mouth in the presence of East High's Primo boy, in high school, and he certainly can't now.

Troy makes a move forward, his body language indicating that he's tempted to jump over the counter and envelope Ryan in his strong arms.

Ryan relives resting his head against the basketball player's neck for a few fleeting moments, Troy's hands on his backside… He can feel his breath hitch, and then he's brought back to reality by the voice of a customer inquiring about cream and sugar.

Troy blinks, having been distracted, as well, then nods understandingly. "Sure thing." He handles the request, his signature friendly smile not leaving his face, and bids the customer, a tired looking older woman, a, "Have a nice day, ma'am."

As another customer steps forward, Ryan shifts his weight from one leg to the other, chastising himself for growing impatient. But, all of his attempts at reasoning with himself fall short, because it suddenly feels like it's been years since he last heard Troy's voice, decades since he last stared into Troy's ocean colored eyes, and _far too long _since they last touched. Taking the next, "Have a nice day", and "Good morning, sir", as his cue, once he's certain that he won't be cutting in front of another patient, paying customer, Ryan moves as swiftly as he can, without appearing desperate, to usurp the currently vacant spot before Troy's position behind the counter. "Hey," he says softly, mindful to have composed himself a bit.

"Hey," Troy returns, his eyes glowing with the same inviting warmth that fills his voice.

Suddenly, Ryan finds himself feeling as though he no longer requires a hot beverage to stave off the cold. "H-How are you?" Up close, he can discern faint dark circles beneath the taller boy's eyes, evidence of more than one sleepless night. His curiosity is peaked, he won't deny that, yet, his heart lurches, as well.

"I'm good." Troy seems to take note of the concern painting Ryan's face. "Really", he adds. "Better than I have been in a while." His eyes cloud over.

Ryan searches Troy's face, his expression sympathetic. "Things didn't work out in California, huh?" He asks gently.

A heavy sigh passes from Troy's lips. His shoulders sag a little. "No. It wasn't like I hoped it would be."

Aware of a lump rising in his throat, Ryan forces himself to swallow his own intense sadness at seeing Troy in such a state. He chews the inside of his mouth pensively for a second or two. "I know it might be difficult, at first," he starts, adopting what he hopes to be a comforting lilt to his voice, "but forget about it. There's practically an entire country between you and whatever happened back there." He tilts his head, smiling brightly. "You're in New York, now! You can make a new life for yourself out here." Ryan's conviction in his own words lends strength to his voice. His personal insecurities about his future are displaced by his certainty that if anyone can make it in New York City, _Troy Bolton_ can.

The misery that clouds Troy's eyes fades. Once more, a smile tugs up the corners of his full-lipped mouth. "You know, Ryan, it really is nice to have a familiar face here." He reaches out, his hand resting on the blond's shoulder. "Especially because it's you."

The combination of Troy's touch, and those veering on _damning_ words, results in mingled heartache and bliss traversing Ryan's bodily circuitry at lightning speeds. The two of them lock eyes, and Ryan succumbs to the magnetic pull of those ocean colored pools framed by long, thick lashes. His train of thought is derailed, and a part of him barely dares to hope that just maybe, his eyes possess the same magnetism. That they have the same luring effect on Troy.

It's a customer clearing his throat that causes them to finally break the eye contact. Both of them flush, apologizing earnestly for being so rude and inconsiderate.

"I'll be right with you, sir!" Troy assures the man.

Ryan hopes that his heartbeat isn't audible.

Troy moves toward the beverage dispenser, picking up a paper cup along the way. "What did you want, Ryan?"

Ryan nearly has to bite his tongue to restrain himself from blurting out, _"You"_. He bites down on his lip, instead, recalling his original intention for stopping in at the coffee shop. "Um, a hot chocolate, please."

Troy's smile returns. It's every bit as infectious as Ryan remembers. "Coming right up," he declares.

When Troy gives Ryan the hot chocolate, their hands meet for an instant, brushing against each other ever so gently. Sparks dance their way up Ryan's arms, just like they have every other time that his and Troy's hands have touched in the past. "Th-thank you." He searches the visage of the taller boy, a tiny part of him just hoping that Troy is as affected as he is. While Ryan's thoughts are focused elsewhere, the cup manages to slide right out of his grasp. "Oh _no_...!" He gasps, fumbling desperately to get a grip on the cardboard. He can already envision the lid popping off on impact with the ground, creating a mess that Troy will have to clean up, or the velocity causing the lid to come off in mid air, and sending the scalding hot chocolate splashing down Troy's front.

"Whoa! Careful…!" With reaction time that would probably make Spiderman envious, Troy leaps over the counter, and quickly and almost effortlessly catches the cup before any of the things that Ryan is dreading can occur.

Ryan places a hand to his chest, over top of his pounding heart. He's overcome by relief and admiration.

Troy's gaze moves from the cup, to Ryan, to the other customers, who are now staring at them, perplexed, and perhaps a bit awestruck, and then back to the cup. "It's, uh, it's hot." He steps back, flushing and rubbing at the back of his neck. The way that his bicep bulges as his arm bends and flexes, doesn't escape Ryan's notice.

"Thank you, Troy." Ryan can feel his heart rate beginning to return to normal. He decides that he's had enough excitement for so early in the morning. However, the pulse-altering events are not quite done with, yet. He glances at his watch, and his heart gives an unwelcome jolt. The corner of his mouth twitches as he looks up. "Troy, I've got to go."

"O-okay." Troy blinks.

"I'll-I'll see you later." Ryan nods, and clutching his cup of hot chocolate firmly, he dashes off, carefully dodging around the other customers still waiting in line, and the occupied tables located near the door.

* * *

Ryan arrives exactly five minutes and thirty-three seconds late to his first class of the day. He accepts his deserved lecture, and quickly ascertains the exercise his peers are involved in, so that he can catch up. While he begins stretching, his phone vibrates with an incoming message. He chastises himself, _You're already late, and now you're going to break one of the chief rules of theater etiquette?_

Yet, the enticement, the temptation to at least _peek _at the message, is far too strong to resist. Particularly when he takes the potential identity of the sender into account.

He waits until his instructor's back is turned, before daring to break the rules, just this one time. It's like someone has injected a dose of pure joy right into his veins when he reads the text from, who else, but Troy Bolton.

**Hey. Uh, you rushed out, so I don't know if i forgot to tell u, but, have a great day. :)**

Ryan texts back: _**Thanks. You, too. **_His fingers tap the keypad rapid-fire style. He envisions that delighted smile making its way across Troy's face when Troy takes in the words contained in his text.

He and Troy continue to text back and forth during the few free moments that they are provided with throughout the day. Ryan breezes through all of his classes, the harsh glares from narrowed eyes, and upturned noses, that he's more than used to be on the receiving end of, scarcely register in his mind. Troy Bolton is in the same city. After Troy's shift at one of the hundreds of Starbucks that line the streets of New York City, ends, he's going to be meeting up with Ryan for dinner.

Suddenly, Ryan Evans's freshman year of college is shaping up to hold more promise than he could have imagined it would.

* * *

"Are you sure you don't wanna go out?" Troy prompts. He places his key in the lock and turns it, his movements stiff.

It occurs to Ryan that his companion might not exactly be _proud_ of his current circumstantial place of residence. Especially since Troy has extended an invitation to the apartment to someone of such wealthy origins. "It's up to you, but staying in is fine with me," Ryan offers, his voice full and certain. The last thing that he wants is for Troy to feel ashamed, or uncomfortable.

"Alright." Troy draws the word out just enough for Ryan to pick up on the wariness in his inflection. "Just a heads up, though. I'm not exactly finished moving in."

"That's okay." Ryan flashes Troy a reassuring smile, then shuffles his feet.

The door comes open, revealing a small floor-space. A pile of boxes, some of them partially open, sits in one corner. There are several instances where the white plaster shows through on the otherwise drab gray walls. At the far end, the front room bisects into a second chamber, where a mattress sits on a thin, and most likely, worn and rusted, metal frame. The bed appears to be the only piece of furniture in the apartment.

Ryan chews the inside of his lower lip, unable to stop himself from feeling a twinge of pity at Troy's living situation. Still, he is aware that things could _always _be worse. And, he's seen enough of those before and after home makeover shows to know that a lot can be done, even with minimal floor-space to work with.

From beside Ryan, Troy unleashes a weighty sigh. "What do you think?"

"It needs some work, but it's really not bad," Ryan says brightly.

His words encourage a slight smile to appear on Troy's face. Troy crosses the threshold, directing Ryan to follow him with a motion of his head. "I've been busy with finding work. So, I haven't really had the time to get this place feeling like home," he explains as he takes his jacket off and drapes it over the back of a chair in an area that looks to be his kitchen.

Ryan hesitates. He doesn't want to appear more awkward than he can help, but all of his knowledge of etiquette dictates that the back of a chair is no place for one's jacket. He begins shrugging out of his own coat, despite this.

"So, Ryan, would you like Chinese, or ramen, or…?" Troy pauses in his rummaging through the almost bare cupboards, to look over his shoulder.

After considering the fact that Troy has just worked a full shift, Ryan deems expecting the former basketball star to cook for the both of them, to be cruel and unnecessary. "Chinese take out is fine with me," he affirms with a bright smile.

"Great." The smile that Troy gives Ryan in return lets Ryan know that he's made the right choice.

While they wait for the food to arrive, Ryan prompts, "How was your day?"

"Alright," Troy replies, his fingers rhythmically tapping the table top. "A few of the customers were sort of short-tempered, but it wasn't too bad, for my first day."

"Good. That's great!" Something about Troy, be it the just audible scratchiness to his voice, or the dark circles underlining his eyes that Ryan noticed earlier, indicates that there's more to be explained. When Troy is good and ready to provide an explanation, that is. For now, Ryan perceives the former superstar of East High School as being in need of a serious morale boosting.

Ryan acknowledges that he is no expert in the delicate art of cheering other people up. By the same token, however, he knows without a doubt that he's willing to do everything in his power to put a smile back on Troy Bolton's face that reaches Troy's breathtaking ocean blue eyes. "I'm really happy that things are working out for you, here," Ryan says.

"Thanks." Troy smiles softly, his cheeks flushing. He sits up straighter, his eyes widening. A thought seems to cross his mind. "Hey, Ryan."

"Yes?"

"Do you wanna go sit in the bedroom?"

Ryan's heart leaps up into his throat. He can feel his own face heating up. His eyes fall sheepishly to the floor.

Apparently aware of the side effects of his phrasing, Troy hastily adds, "I-I mean, it's more comfortable than standing around in the kitchen."

"Yeah. Okay." Swallowing, Ryan ignores the way his heart rate is still too fast, and prepares to follow Troy. He takes a moment to finish removing his own coat, fold it neatly as possible, and set it on the seat of the chair that is currently acting as Troy's coatrack.

They settle onto the bed. The frame creaks under their weight, much as Ryan expected it would, but the mattress is a great deal softer than he anticipated. _Good_, he notes. _That's good. Troy needs _something_ comfortable to relax on. _

"So, how was your day, Ryan?" Troy asks, placing his hands in his lap.

"Great." Ryan all but beams. "It helped that it got off to a fantastic start!" He keeps his eyes on the brunette, employing a slightly elevated brow to ensure that Troy gets the intended message.

Sure enough, a bashful grin works it's way across Troy's face. "You know, it's really great to have someone be happy to see me."

Ryan's stomach drops at the underlying melancholy in Troy's inflection. "Of course I am!" He replies, more than a bit confused. "Why wouldn't someone be happy to see you?"

Troy's gaze gradually lowers to where his hands rest in his lap. He shifts uncomfortably.

Ryan's shoulder jerks with the reflex to reach out. He mentally chastises himself, wishing that he could retract his question and regretting his phrasing. He was raised to have more tact than this. "Troy…" he starts.

Troy shakes his head faintly. Whatever the cause of his upset, Ryan is not to blame. "Gabriella, she…" He swallows audibly. Tears well up, shining in his eyes, misting them, before spilling over. "She… _cheated _on me," he chokes out. His hands ball up into fists, and his lower lip quavers. "I-I wasn't good enough for her, I guess."

"She _cheated _on you?" The thought is equal parts unfathomable, because betraying someone who holds a level of trust in you is an absolutely repugnant act in Ryan's eyes. And, yet, sickeningly enough, it also makes a great deal of sense. Gabriella never seemed to comprehend how incredibly fortunate she was to be the recipient of Troy's affections. Nor did she ever appear to have the amount of devotion to Troy that Troy had to her. Ryan can still recall the coy smiles and fluttering eyelashes that she had directed at him, during the summer of their junior year of high school.

These flirtatious gestures hadn't escaped Troy's notice, either, but he was so devoted to Gabriella…

"I _had _to leave, Ryan. I couldn't bear to stay at Berkeley, anymore, knowing that the main reason I was there didn't want anything to do with me." Troy's voice is tight, and it cracks slightly under the weight of the emotions pouring out of him. "Gabriella found someone smarter, better than me. And, I was just _disposable_ to her, afterwards."

"Troy… I-I'm so sorry." Swallowing the lump in his own throat, Ryan scoots in. At the back of his mind, it registers that he's waiting for a signal, a cue to act.

Troy shakes his head again. "You don't need to apologize, Ryan. It just-" Several tears slide down his face and drop onto the leg of his jeans, leaving tiny wet spots on the dark blue denim. "It really _sucks_. I don't even know what I'm doing, anymore!" Fresh tears well up. He raises his hand to wipe them away.

That's when it hits Ryan. Real life doesn't always provide cues. Sometimes, one just has to do what feels right, to improvise, and hope for the best possible outcome. He doesn't give himself the opportunity for hesitating, or second-guessing his next course of action. Silently, he lifts his arms up, and draws Troy into an embrace.

Slowly, the tension leaves Troy's muscles. It takes a second or two, and then his long eyelashes, still wet, tickle Ryan's neck, inciting a reaction of his pilomotor reflex. Then, Troy's warm, damp cheek rests in the crook of Ryan's neck, amplifying the sensation of goosebumps that breaks out all over his petite body. "That's okay," Ryan murmurs soothingly, gently rubbing Troy's back.

"I should have had things figured out months before graduation. I _shouldn't _have waited 'til the last minute." Troy's inflection hardens. It's tinged with bitterness, shame, and regret.

"Not everyone has everything figured out in high school, Troy." Ryan pauses for a second. He thinks of Sharpay, and how she had spent her entire high school career brimming with confidence that bordered arrogance, believing that she was destined for stardom after college. The college that she was set attending in her grand plan was Juilliard. She roped Ryan into a ridiculous scheme that Ryan would prefer to forget the details of, to ensure that she would obtain a scholarship to the performing arts university, only for that scheme to fall by the wayside as their senior prom, the spring musical, and graduation loomed closer.

By the time they were set to graduate, it was Kelsi Nielsen, the drama club's composer, who wound up receiving the coveted scholarship. Ryan, much to his own astonishment, was also extended a special scholarship for his choreography. Sharpay had to adjust to this massive oversight on her part, and thus fell back on attending the University of Albuquerque, and assisting their former drama teacher, Ms. Darbus, with instructing the East High drama club. Fortunately for Sharpay, this was a decision that still benefitted her, as she managed to incur a rivalry with a London schoolgirl sophomore during the musical; a girl who went by the name of, Tiara Gold, and who Ryan mistrusted from the moment he was first introduced to her.

A week before classes were set to begin at U of A, however, Sharpay approached their father, pleading with pouty lips to take a year off in order to, "find herself".

"Trust me," Ryan continues, a dry smile on his lips. "You're not the only one who's confused on what to do next."

Troy releases a heavy sigh. "You're right. I… I just need to take things one day at a time, for now."

"Yes. That's a wonderful idea." Ryan hopes that Troy can hear the smile in his voice. His chest is alleviated of a great weight. Taking things one day at a time is precisely what Troy needs to do to begin getting back on his feet. And, also, this, holding Troy close like this, feels incredibly, heart-stirringly _right_. It feels even more _right_, in a way that almost takes Ryan's breath away, when Troy wraps his arms around Ryan.

For a moment, the room is silent. The only sounds permeating the air are the sounds of Ryan and Troy's breathing, occasionally joined by a few sniffling noises from Troy.

Ryan's heart twists with dread at the prospect of breaking the oddly comfortable, given the information that Troy has just disclosed, silence between them. But, he must do just that, in order to affirm that Troy will be okay. "I wish I would have brought stuff to make tea," he pipes up. "It works wonders for calming the nerves."

A chuckle escapes Troy. "Thanks for the offer, Ry, but…" He leans forward, tightening the embrace.

_Ry._ Ryan can feel the blood pulsing in his temples.

"This is enough," Troy finishes.

Ryan lets out a soft sigh. His heart is beating against Troy's chest and his own. Troy is relaxed in his arms, probably more relaxed than he's been in far too long. _Yes_, Ryan agrees mentally. _For now, at least, this is enough._

* * *

After Ryan helps Troy wash, dry, and put away the dishes, he thanks Troy for the meal, and for having him over.

Anxiously, Troy walks Ryan to the door. "I'll walk you home," he offers.

Ryan politely declines. "Thank you, Troy. I really appreciate the offer, but, I'll be all right."

Troy's brows knit. "You sure?"

Ryan nods, utilizing a bright, confident smile, for good measure. "_Positive_."

Troy gives a hesitant nod. The beginnings of a smile erode the anxiety in his features. "Okay."

Ignoring the sinking sensation that accompanies his suspicion that Troy has smiled more today than he has in weeks, Ryan places a gentle hand on Troy's shoulder. "Why don't you go on ahead to bed? You've worked hard, today, and you deserve a decent night's sleep."

"Yeah. I guess I do." Troy stifles a yawn. "Everything that's gone on in the past few weeks has been pretty exhausting."

Ryan realizes that he's lingering, that Troy is lingering. It crosses Ryan's mind that this empty space, this short interlude, is usually the lead in to a good night kiss before a pair officially parts ways. _At least, it would be the lead in to a good night kiss… if Troy and I were actually _dating_. _Before his mind can blank, Ryan lets his hand fall from Troy's shoulder, and then swings his other arm up and lightly claps his hands together. "Well, I'd better get on my way." He takes a step toward the hallway outside, his eyes meeting Troy's. "Thank you again for the lovely meal, and for letting me have the pleasure of your company."

"Oh, no problem, Ryan." A pleasant shade of pink colors Troy's cheeks. "I had a great time tonight, too. This was really… _nice_."

Had it been someone like Troy's best friend, the much more stereotypical, and, before Ryan won him over, thoroughly more _intimidating _jock, Chad Danforth, who made such a comment, Ryan might have interpreted the small pause preceding, "nice", as a forced cover up to the speaker's honest opinion. Because it's _Troy_, however, Ryan has no doubts about his sincerity. The petite male blushes. "Yeah. It was really _nice_."

"Yeah…" Troy slides his hands into his jeans pockets. "So, I'll see you tomorrow?"

Ryan's heart misses a beat. He can feel his knees quivering with sheer delight. "Yeah. Absolutely!"

"Awesome."

The rush of warm, tingly, fizzy feelings that floods Ryan when Troy calls after him to, "Be careful out there, okay?", renders the blond momentarily oblivious to the dangers of New York City streets after the sun has gone down. He wanders down the sidewalk, his mind taking up temporary residence in a fantasy of himself and Troy dancing together, their fingers interlaced, and their pelvises touching. The contact sends heated sparks up along Ryan's body. His and Troy's eyes are locked, and when Troy begins gradually leaning in until the freckles that dot the bridge of his nose are discernible, there's no Sharpay to rudely push between them, and demand her, "turn", with Troy. And, there's no Gabriella to…

_ Gabriella_.

Ryan halts.

_"I wasn't good enough for her, I guess." _He can still hear Troy's voice breaking with a just audible sob. All at once, he is aware of the skin-prickling low temperature. Wrapping his coat tighter around his body, in the sparse hope that the fabric still bears some of the warmth from the inside of Troy's apartment, he peers up into the blinding gleam of a pair of headlights. Raising a hand to shield his eyes from the glare, he recognizes the rapidly approaching vehicle as a taxi cab.

There's no time for Ryan to delve into his memory banks in the hopes of extracting information on how to properly hail a cab. He uses one hand to clench his coat close to his body, and throws the other arm up in a frantic wave, calling out, "Hey! Taxi!", and hopes for the best. Thankfully, this shamefully novice technique actually works. Ryan fills the driver, an older man whose obvious five o'clock shadow is still visible despite half of his face being veiled by shadows, in on the address of his apartment.

As the cab sets off for its destination, the driver is quiet, probably tired after a long day, leaving Ryan alone with his thoughts. These thoughts are centered on a distraught Troy Bolton. Troy's relationship with Gabriella, and their subsequent break-up, has dealt Troy an undeniable and hefty blow. The lively sparkle that Ryan so adores, has vanished from the former athlete's eyes.

Ryan stares out the window, watching skyscrapers and other towering, tightly packed buildings flash by. They're in a city infamously known for being made of cold, unfeeling metal, mortar, and concrete. _As long as Troy is caught up in this state of post-break-up melancholia, this city will eat him alive. _He swallows hard, fear clutching his chest at the prospect. No. He expels any negative thoughts on the matter from his mind. Troy is going to recover. He's going to get set on the right track toward the happy ending that he deserves.

Ryan Evans is going to see to it himself.


	2. Part 2

**A/N: I apologize for the wait, everyone. This chapter required quite a bit more effort than the previous one, and personal drama caused me to put off writing it, for a while.**

**What the writers of these movies did to Troy's character is absolutely **_**vile **_**and **_**inexcusable**_**. **

Part 2

Carefully hurrying along, Ryan types out: _Good morning. On my way to school. Look outside. _He slides his phone back into his messenger bag, and pauses at the window of the Starbucks where Troy is employed. Peering in, he catches sight of Troy at the brunette's station behind the counter.

Troy looks up from his phone and toward the window. A grin breaks out on his face as he spots Ryan.

Ryan waves, pleasant warmth and energy coursing through him. He isn't close enough to determine with any accuracy whether or not Troy was successful at giving his body and mind a well-deserved rest, but even from a distance, Troy's demeanor suggests that he's in good spirits. That, alone, will be enough to get Ryan through the day's workload.

* * *

He arrives at his choreography class a few minutes early. While Ryan settles into his seat in the house of Juilliard's vast auditorium, and begins pulling out his pen and spiral notebook, a light female voice pipes up, "Are you nervous about today's assignment, too?"

Ryan has to struggle to resist the urge to clam up and pull into himself. He wishes he had Sharpay's confidence and communicative prowess, or Troy's natural finesse at navigating the waters of social interaction. Alas, he's still Ryan Evans. However, he does have one skill to fall back on. Straightening his back, he snaps into "Ryan Evans,_ Actor_", mode, and turns to face the person responsible for the inquiry.

Quyen Tranh, a girl with sleek, shiny black hair that just touches the tops of her shoulders, peers up at Ryan from her seat in the row behind him.

"Sort of," Ryan replies. If he's honest with himself, he's more than just "sort of", nervous. In order to get anywhere with his career, he has to continue to make good impressions on as many people as possible, He'd be lying to himself if he said that the chance of failing to achieve his life-spanning dream, didn't make him queasy.

Unlike the disdain derived from an intense competitive drive that contorts the features of a majority of Ryan's peers at the prestigious performing arts college, Quyen appears to be genuinely curious, and perhaps, a bit anxious, herself. "Hopefully it won't be something insanely difficult," she remarks.

"Yeah." Ryan nods and bites down on the inside of his lower lip.

Their classmates file in, filling the room with chatter and the clinking of garments adorned with expensive jewelry.

The instructor, Mrs. Belmont, a lithe brunette woman whom Ryan estimates to be somewhere between twenty-five and thirty-five, makes her way down the aisle at a swift and steady pace. Once she takes her position before the stage, she announces, her voice ringing out crisply and clearly, "Good afternoon, everyone."

"Good afternoon," the class returns. Ryan's voice is swallowed up by the flat, droning response.

"The assignment that I have for you is rather simple," Mrs. Belmont states.

Ryan expels a relieved sigh, and imagines Quyen doing the same.

"Unless, you make it more complicated than it needs to be."

Ryan's eyes widen. He looks over his shoulder to gauge the dark-haired girl's reaction.

Quyen blinks, her brows furrowing. She shoots Ryan a faintly apprehensive stare and tightly clenches the edge of her purple binder where it rests on her lap.

His gaze returning to his instructor, Ryan takes in a breath. He hopes that he won't, somehow, wind up making this assignment, "more difficult than it needs to be".

* * *

Ryan hurries along, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. At last, he bursts through the door of Troy's place of employment. He can scarcely contain his excitement at the opportunity that he has been provided with.

Troy is in the process of retrieving his jacket. "Hey, Ryan," he warmly greets the blond boy.

"Hey!" Ryan inhales, composing himself as he does so. He asks smoothly, "How was your shift?"

"Okay, I guess." Troy shrugs his jacket into place over his delightfully well-muscled chest. "It seems like your day was a lot more interesting, though."

"You could say that." The ends of Ryan's mouth quirk up. He falls into step beside Troy as they head out of the coffee shop together. "I, uh, received an assignment in my choreography class."

Troy inclines his head toward Ryan, listening intently.

Cognizant of the heat creeping over his fair face, Ryan elaborates, "I have to partner up with someone outside of the class, and choreograph a number based on overcoming some sort of obstacle, or adversity, to perform with that partner."

Troy nods comprehensively. "Any luck finding a partner?"

"Well…" Ryan's gaze drops to his feet. The silence seems to yawn between them, and he gives himself a mental kick for hesitating. _Just _ask_ him, Evans. _

"I'll do it."

"Really?" Ryan's head snaps back up. He can't contain the grin that works its way across his face.

"Yeah!" Troy gives Ryan a playful nudge. "I figure it'll be a good way to get my mind off things. Besides," he adds, flashing his companion a fond smile that reaches his eyes, "it will be awesome to get to work with you, again."

Happiness fizzes inside of Ryan, bubbling up and just about ready to run over the sides. "I couldn't agree more."

The words effect the former athlete, broadening his smile slightly, and Ryan resists the urge to skip down the street, or pump his fist at the knowledge that he's responsible for that. "So, uh," Troy's hands find their way into the pockets of his jeans. Simultaneously, he and Ryan pause at a crosswalk and tilt their heads up, awaiting the signal to walk. "When do you wanna start?"

"Whenever you're ready," Ryan replies.

"You sure?" Troy asks. The "walk", signal flashes, and after checking for cars in both directions, Troy lets Ryan pass in front of him.

Once Troy is at Ryan's side again, matching the blond's stride, Ryan peers curiously at the taller brunette.

"I mean," Troy goes on, "I do have some unpacking and stuff to get done, but I-"

Without needing to take a moment to mull it over, Ryan offers, as if it's a reflex, "I can help you out with that."

"Really?" Troy blinks, perplexed. "That won't interfere with your school work, or anything?"

"Not at all!"

These words also have an affect on Troy. His stride falters, and he comes to a halt. His brows knit together. "You'd do that for me, Ryan?"

The note of incredulity in the former athlete's voice makes Ryan's heart miss a beat. "Of course I would. I-it's the least I could do." He would build Troy a palace with an indoor swimming pool, and cupboards and refrigerators stocked entirely with Troy's favorite foods, if Troy wanted him to.

Troy's eyes glow softly. His signature warm, inviting, golden boy smile returns to his face. He speaks as if he's measuring each word carefully. "That's… _really_ cool of you, Ry. Thank you."

Ryan's legs, his muscles, have melted, they've all liquified, as the pair rounds the corner onto the street where Troy's apartment is located. Ryan is fairly sure that he murmurs, "Don't mention it," but he can't quite distinguish the words over his heart pounding in his ears.

* * *

Over the next week, Ryan divides his time between school, assisting Troy in getting his new home to feel like a home, and researching potential song choices for the project.

After Troy's shift, the two of them go shopping for a chair set for the kitchen, a love seat, a comfortable arm chair, and a couple of shelves for the main room, and other important fixtures.

Ryan puts on some background music while they go about giving the apartment a much needed coat of paint to- as he phrased it- "liven up the place". As he leaves a trail of light blue paint in his roller's wake, he hums along softly. He notices while rolling fresh paint over one of the sections of the wall where the old paint began chipping away, that Troy's movements are, perhaps subconsciously, synching up with the beat of the song playing. Unable to stop himself from smiling, Ryan follows the brunette's lead.

Troy catches sight of the smile playing on Ryan's lips, and the way that Ryan's actions are intentionally matching the beat, and he reciprocates the smile. He bobs his head, swaying to the rhythm.

Ryan beams ebulliently.

By the time the first repetition of the chorus has arrived, they're both dancing around the room, dripping paint all over the newspapers laid down to protect the floor. They look at each other as they passionately belt out, their voices blending sonorously:

_It's time to begin_

_ Isn't it?_

_ I get a little bit bigger_

_ But then, I'll admit_

_ I'm just the same as I was_

_ Now, don't you understand?_

_ That I'm never changing who I am_

Ryan sees a glimmer of the spirited vigor that he knows and recognizes as uniquely _Troy_ in the boy's blue eyes. And, he's overjoyed to find it there. It registers that _this_ is precisely the type of song that Troy needs. One about self-empowerment.

As he and Troy return to the paint canister to refill their trays, Ryan is deep in contemplation. Various song titles enter his brain, only to be rejected. He's tugged from his thoughts by the sensation of skin meeting skin. Troy's hand brushes against Ryan's. For a few seconds that both feel as though they take place in an alternate dimension where everything moves in slow motion, and feel so short, so fleeting, Ryan could have brushed them aside as a product of his imagination, the taller boy's pinkie finger curls around the petite performer's.

Troy's touch sends pleasant shivers traversing the length of Ryan's spine, and it takes quite a bit to keep from shuddering or jumping away. He's saved the trouble of having to outwardly react, because it's _Troy_ who withdraws first.

However, all that it takes is one look at Troy's face, and the pink filling his cheeks, to discern that his reaction to the contact was the same.

* * *

"How is your project coming along?" Quyen prompts.

"Okay." Ryan manages a smile, this time.

She returns it. "So, you found a partner, too?"

_Partner_. All of the connotations attached to that word, being applied to _Troy_, results in Ryan's heart fluttering. _Troy is my _partner_._ "Yes."

"It's finding the right song that's tricky," Quyen inputs with a sigh.

"Yeah," Ryan agrees. He's on the right track. He knows what sort of song will help to boost Troy's self-confidence. It's just a matter of finding lyrics applicable to Troy's situation. "I know what you mean." He directs a soft smile at the girl. "I'm sure both of us will figure something out, though." Before he can reprimand himself for improper phrasing, or a potentially inappropriate expression, he reverts into Acting mode, and adds, "Good luck."

"Thank you, Ryan." Quyen smiles back. "You, too!" She has a nice, inviting smile, the kind that all future superstars are supposed to have.

A smile just like _Troy's_.

* * *

Troy raises his head, a smile illuminating his features. "Ry!"

"Hi!" Ryan gasps out his response. He leans against the counter in front of Troy.

"You're here!" Troy glances down at his bare wrist. "And, right on time, too."

Ryan nods briskly. When his lungs are no longer burning, he says, "I only had two classes, today, and I…" His throat is suddenly far too dry. _Talk! _He commands himself. "Well, I-" he tries again. This time, he's in his actor mode, willing himself to be confident, suave. The very opposite of shy, awkward Ryan Evans. "I figured you could use some company." Immediately after the presumptuous statement leaves his mouth, the self-doubt crashes down on him. _What if I was too forward? What if I-?_

"Actually," Troy looks at the clock on the wall just to his left. "My lunch break starts now, so I could definitely use some company." He flashes Ryan a grin and a wink.

Ryan feels like he's on the verge of swooning.

Troy begins untying his green apron, and a taller, dark-haired male with gray eyes who sports the black Starbucks cap, remarks, "Off on a date, huh, Troy?"

Ryan and Troy's faces flush concurrently.

"Maybe I am, Joe," Troy shoots back, not a trace of anger at the implication evident anywhere on him. Just like in high school, Troy's not bothered in the slightest by being publicly affectionate with his obviously flamboyantly gay… friend? "You jealous?"

Joe gives Ryan a hardly subtle once over.

Ryan smiles bashfully and self-consciously shuffles his feet. He's not exactly accustomed to having people eye _him_. Understandably, _Sharpay_ has always been the one that all of the guys are interested in.

All of the guys, that is, except for _Troy_.

"Touche, Bolton." Joe grins.

"You've made a friend?" Ryan asks softly when Troy is at his side. He recalls Troy's plan for survival in New York City. _I just need to take things_ _one day at a time. _

"Well…" Troy turns back to look at Joe. It takes a moment, but the ends of his mouth quirk up in a mixture of amusement and mild bewilderment. "Yeah, I guess I have."

This sign of progress thrills Ryan immensely. "See? I knew you could do it!" He nudges Troy gently.

Troy just smiles, as if Ryan being proud of him is something incredible. His eyes return to Ryan, and they're glowing brightly. "So, Ry, are you ready for our date?"

There isn't a hint of mockery in his voice. In fact, it almost reads like Troy is perfectly serious in dubbing this outing a "date".

"Yes." Ryan nods slowly, aware that his head, the source of his practicality and common sense, and his heart, the often more vulnerable than he'd like for it to be, wildcard, are battling each other over their conflicting viewpoints. His heart ultimately takes this round.

Troy returns the happiness that overpowers Ryan's face full force. He quietly exclaims, "Alright!", as if he just scored a three point shot- at least, Ryan is pretty sure that there are three point shots- in basketball. Troy holds the door open, nodding for Ryan to go ahead of him.

Once they're outside and the door has closed behind them, immersing them in a world that smells like cold, damp bricks, and rusted metal, Ryan prompts, "Do you have a location in mind?"

"As a matter of fact," Troy draws out, placing a gentle hand on the small of Ryan's back, "I found this _awesome_ pizza place a little ways up the road from here…"

* * *

Troy wasn't kidding. The pizza was "_awesome_", probably among the best that Ryan has ever sampled. Yes, having to pick off all of those bothersome pepperoni slices, and getting the sauce caught up under his polished fingernails, had definitely been a con to their… "date".

But, Troy ate the pepperoni that Ryan couldn't eat, and even promised to order a half-pepperoni, half-cheese and mushrooms, or half-chicken and garlic, next time.

"Just, half-whatever you want, okay, Ry?" Ryan opens his mouth to protest, only to be cut off with, "Hey. You're going out of your way for me. It's only fair that I return the favor and treat you to lunch, right?"

It's fair. There's no denying that. Yet, Ryan receiving some sort of payment from Troy when he's just doing what feels_ right_ to him, especially given Troy's current circumstances, twists his stomach in an uncomfortably anxious manner. "Yeah," Ryan affirms in a low voice. "I guess so."

Troy winds up paying for the meal, and that uncomfortably anxious twisting intensifies.

* * *

That evening, while Ryan is reading _Flowers For Algernon_ for his English class, his phone goes off. He checks the id, and recognizes Troy's name and number. Picking up the phone without a moment's hesitation is another action that feels almost reflexive. "Hello?"

"Hey, Ryan," Troy's tenor-baritone greets him. "Are you busy?"

Ryan glances at the number of the page that he's currently on. It won't take him very long to read twenty-some pages before his next class. "Not really." He sets his bookmark in place, closes the book, and leans against the back of his sofa, crossing his legs. "What's up?"

"I was wondering if it would be all right if I dropped by for a few minutes."

Trying valiantly not to choke on his heart, as it's suddenly in his throat, Ryan replies, "Y-Yeah. Of course it is!" He shifts into an upright position. "Do you want me to call a taxi for you?"

"No, that's okay." Troy's voice is the tiniest bit distorted by a background noise that Ryan can't quite identify. "I'm out jogging, right now. I just need directions, and I should be there in a few minutes."

Ryan pictures Troy; the muscles in the athletic boy's arms and legs tightening, then relaxing repeatedly as those limbs are bent and straightened, Troy's silky brunette hair, shot through with lighter highlights, moved about by the wind and the motion of his body… He inhales sharply, mentally snapping his fingers in front of his own face, and plunges back into reality.

"Ry? You still there?" The concern in Troy's inflection makes Ryan's stomach flip with guilt.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Ryan says sheepishly. Getting to his feet, he paces across the floor of the main room in his apartment. He organizes his thoughts, focusing on the task at hand, as opposed to wondering what Troy's mouth tastes like for the umpteenth time.

He hears a knock at his door approximately seven minutes after giving Troy directions that translated from mental imagery to speech so fluidly, Ryan surprised himself. Opening the door reveals his brunette guest standing in the hallway just outside. "Hi…!" Ryan gives Troy his salutations.

Troy's cheeks are flushed, from the low temperature and from exertion. He's dressed in a black hooded sweat jacket worn over a white t-shirt, and a pair of red East High sweat pants. His hair is lightly mussed, and Ryan can't help but smile, his heart skipping a beat, at the way Troy's eyes light up, completing the vision of Troy Bolton in all of his former glory. "Hi!" Troy returns.

"Come on in, and make yourself comfortable." Ryan gestures as he speaks. He brings his hands together at the end of the sentence, and lightly steps aside to let Troy pass by.

Troy blinks in awe as he surveys his surroundings. His eyes sweep over the coffee table near the middle of the room where _Flowers For Algernon_ is sitting among stacks of school papers and sheet music, a book mark poking out of its pages. He takes in the keyboard set up in the far corner, the sofa that rests behind the coffee table, and the entertainment system that doubles as a bookshelf. "This is a really sweet place you've got here, Ryan."

Ryan brushes off the comment with a flick of his wrist. "It's nothing special." It really _isn't_, especially compared to his bedroom back at the Evans mansion in Albuquerque. But, the fact that Troy is impressed, admittedly makes Ryan a bit giddy. He crosses to stand beside the taller boy. "So, what brings you to my humble abode?"

Troy rubs at the back of his neck. "I… I wanted to talk to you about something."

Ryan blinks, then gives him an encouraging nod.

"I've been thinking about transferring my credits, and getting into a good college somewhere around here."

Taking Troy's pause as a cue to speak, Ryan inputs, "Troy, that's _wonderful_! Any college would be extremely pleased to have you."

Troy's eyes cloud, and the smile that tugs at his lips is _wistful_.

"What's wrong?" Ryan asks, his stomach dropping like an anvil.

"I-I don't know if that's the _right_ decision, though. I mean, what if I'm not smart enough? Or good enough, or…?!" Troy breaks off, tears welling in his eyes, his brows knitting, and Ryan picks this as the moment to interject.

He can only hope that his timing is even a fraction as impeccable as Troy's always is. "You _are _smart. Troy, you're charming, and personable, and dependable, and you're _so _talented."

Troy stares at Ryan with widened blue eyes and a stricken expression, as if he can't quite believe what the blond is saying.

Ryan's heart wrenches. He's more than slightly stunned, himself. _Troy Bolton_, of all people, _shouldn't_ be talking like this. Troy should be confident. He should be optimistic. He shouldn't be bogged down by doubts about whether or not he's "good enough", for colleges, or even for his ex-girlfriend.

Suddenly, it clicks that _someone_, be it Gabriella Montez, with her brown doe eyes and syrupy sweet, girlish voice, or Chad Danforth, with his thickheadedness, among other macho jock attributes, or someone else whose opinion holds water with the former East High superstar, has _caused _Troy to feel this way about himself.

And, Ryan is absolutely _incensed_. However, he pushes aside his desire to unleash the trademark Evans wrath on the person or people responsible for Troy's mental state, because Troy, himself, is more important.

"Ryan, I-" Troy's chest shudders. His eyes are still wide, this time with desperation, and his voice trembles. It's as though he's just had a devastating epiphany. "I'm… so _used _to having Chad, or Gabriella, or the Wildcats, or even my dad tell me what to do, I just-!" He cuts himself off sharply, and shakes his head. "I don't know _what_… or _where_…! I-I don't trust myself to make those decisions, anymore…" Here, his voice breaks, and as his lower lip quivers, and his eyes close, tears streaking down his face, so does he.

Ryan is at the former athlete's side in an instant. He lays a hand on Troy's shoulder, squeezing it as tightly and reassuringly as he can. As Troy's body shakes with a sob, he moves his hand to clasp Ryan's. "Troy, look at me," Ryan says softly.

Troy obeys.

Some part of Ryan acknowledges that he, himself, is _desperate_, too, as he peers intently into Troy's eyes. "Do you remember how you apologized to your friends, and to me, when my sister was mistreating all of us, last summer?"

Troy manages a faint nod, his forehead creasing under his mussed side-swept bangs.

"_You_ decided to do that. _You _made the decision as the team captain to give that Jimmie kid the ball, and let him make the last basket of your final game at East High. _You_ brought Gabriella back to Albuquerque just in time for the two of you to perform your duet in the musical, and make me, Kelsi, and everyone else in the cast _proud_. And, _you_ brought yourself all the way out here to New York City, and found a job to support yourself, even though your girlfriend cheated on you and turned your world upside down." Ryan's intensity is somewhat embarrassing for him, but he can't help how passionate he is about this. He can feel Troy's muscles relaxing under his fingertips, while Troy's grip on his hand tightens.

Troy is staring at Ryan, his breath rate slowing as he gives the blond his full, undivided attention.

"Troy", Ryan's voice softens, adopting a comforting lilt. "Forget about what Gabriella, Chad, or what anyone else wants you to do, or be. This is about _you_. _Your_ future. You _have_ autonomy. You're more than capable of making your own decisions. No one else's opinion should matter, here." Then, his voice drops to a tremulous whisper as he adds, almost pleading, "Okay?" He searches Troy's eyes frantically for a sign that his words have gotten through.

After several seconds that seem to pile excruciating weight on Ryan's chest, Troy nods. "Okay." He swallows, then nods more firmly, and with more certainty than before. "Okay".

And, just like that, they're lingering, again. It feels like Troy is staring directly into Ryan's soul, that those clear, intense, ocean blue pools are sweeping Ryan away in their torrential tide.

Or, maybe the waves have already closed over Ryan's head, and he's just figured out how to breathe underwater.

Troy's gaze falls to Ryan's lips, and his pink tongue slips out, just long enough for a sharp ache to seize Ryan's entire body.

_Fuck_.

Ryan's own tongue touches the back of his prominent upper front teeth. He swallows to contain a moan- or is it a whimper?- of _need _to feel Troy's full lips crushed against his, Troy's firm, sculpted chest against his scrawny one…. To-to make sure that Troy is all right, now. "W-Would you like something to drink?" He murmurs, his voice huskier than he means for it to be.

"Yeah," Troy replies, his long eyelashes veiling his eyes.

There's a brief hesitation. Troy leans in, his head tilting slightly, his lips parting, the light in his eyes a bit fearful and desperate. Like it was _that _day during rehearsals for the spring musical. Then, Troy appears to get a hold of himself and takes a seat on the sofa, where he runs his hand through his hair.

"I'll just… go get that glass of water for you." Ryan waits for Troy's nod of confirmation, then he plasters on a smile and fumbles his way to his kitchen. As humiliatingly awkward as ever. He continues to curse his timidness, and lack of confidence while he scoops ice into the glass, and fills it with water from the filtered tap. After that, comes the interminable questions that Ryan can't answer: _Did he just…? He _couldn't_ have just tried to… _could_ he?_

His unbothered facade is firmly in place by the time he gives Troy the glass.

"Thanks, Ry." Troy's eyes soften. "You're so good to me," he says, his voice and eyes teeming with emotion, before bringing the glass to his lips. He takes a sip, then adds, looking into Ryan's eyes, "I really don't know what I'd do without you."

Ryan ignores the impact these words have on his heart, because his stomach is twisting in that uncomfortably anxious way. "Hey, now." He takes a seat beside Troy, ducking his head shyly. "I haven't done anything that someone else wouldn't have done."

"You have, Ryan," Troy insists gently. He leans in, his body visibly shaking. This time, Ryan can feel Troy's soft, full lips, still a bit damp from the drink of water, press against his cheek.

Ryan nearly gasps, and his hands ball into fists in the effort to keep from turning his head to capture Troy's lips with his own.

Troy pulls away only the distance needed to murmur, "You've done _so much_."

* * *

Ryan calls a taxi for Troy. Before parting ways for the night, they embrace each other. Troy allows Ryan to nuzzle into his neck, and it's enough for Ryan to get a nose full of the former basketball player's pleasingly warm, musky scent, and wish he could stay in Troy's arms, snug against his virile body, forever. "Do what's best for you, alright, Troy?"

"I will, Ryan," Troy promises, enveloping Ryan's cool, slender hand in his own. His thumb strokes over Ryan's knuckles, and the performer's head and heart are at war, again. "Bye," Troy murmurs, holding up his hand in a wave.

"Bye," Ryan whispers, wiggling his fingers.

Then, the door closes, leaving Ryan alone with his thoughts and an aching heart. He touches his cheek absently, observing that the soft flesh there is still tingling from the earlier contact. For what certainly won't be the last time, he wishes that Sharpay was there. Ryan is the more empathetic twin, yes, yet, Sharpay is the one who seems to have a sixth sense when it comes to reading signals from her potential romantic partners.

_Or, maybe Shar just has a clue as to what the hell she's doing, and I _don't_. _Ryan sighs heavily and drops onto his love seat into the spot Troy occupied previously. The cushion is still warm. He grabs his light blue Mac Book Pro, opens it, and pulls up his Itunes menu and his notes on the song for his assignment.

The song for Troy.

Ben Kweller's "Sundress", comes up on the Itunes shuffle. Ryan swallows the lump constricting his throat, and skims through the criteria for the musical selection. Suddenly, something falls into place.

_"I'm so… _used _to having Chad, or Gabriella, or the Wildcats, or even my dad tell me what to do…!" _Hearing a mental echo of the heart-wrenching break in Troy's voice as he admitted to something so insidious as having grown so accustomed to his "friends", dictating his life choices, he no longer trusts himself to make his own decisions, is what clinches it.

Ryan has found Troy's song.

The tiny trill of victory that goes hand-in-hand with his discovery is short-lived, as the lyrics of his background music begin resonating with Ryan.

_And, from the inside out_

_ You've changed girl,_

_ You know you have_

_ Don't make a good thing bad_

_ Just let me hold you_

_ In my hand_

_ I do_

_ Everything you want me_

_ To_

* * *

A phone call is all that it takes to bring Ryan over to Troy's apartment bright and early the next morning. He would have dropped everything and gone right over, even if Troy _hadn't _been impossibly sweet, inquiring about Ryan's well-being after the events of the previous night, and offering to treat the blond to ice cream in exchange for the favor he was asking of him.

Ryan doesn't need a reward as an incentive to help Troy. He never has.

Joe from Starbucks is waiting outside the apartment complex when Ryan arrives.

"Hey, Ryan." The smile that Troy directs at Ryan warms the petite actor from head to foot.

"Hey!" Ryan beams back.

"Ah, it's you!" Joe acknowledges Ryan with a nod and a playful grin.

Ryan notes how peculiar it is for him to see the dark-haired male out of his uniform. "Yeah, it's me," he replies with an awkward chuckle, swinging his arms.

Troy seems to detect Ryan's mild discomfort. He speaks up, filling the silence, and _thankfully _taking the attention off of Ryan. "It's pretty cold out here, huh?"

Ryan nods, and Troy moves into him until their shoulders are touching. Ryan flashes Troy a smile and a look of gratitude.

"You guys are from out of town," Joe assesses.

"Is it obvious?" Troy asks, looking over Ryan and himself as if their clothing choices are a dead giveaway. He rubs at Ryan's shoulder while he does so, in an attempt to keep his companion warm.

From where Ryan is standing, Troy's doing a magnificent job.

"Well," Joe shifts his weight, his fingers sliding into the pockets of his skinny jeans. "You _are _acting like you're in Alaska, when it hasn't even started snowing here, yet," he teases them.

Troy exchanges a glance with Ryan, and Ryan reads a desire for shirtless, sunscreen, swimming pool weather in Troy's eyes.

Ryan blinks sympathetically.

"So, what time is that delivery truck supposed to get here, anyway?" Joe voices the thought on all of their minds.

"Hopefully, _soon_," Troy remarks, pushing up his sleeve to glance at his bare wrist, again.

Ryan makes a mental note to remind himself to look into getting Troy a nice watch, despite how endearing that little tic of his is, right as the truck pulls up.

Joe handles the chair set for the kitchen in two trips, one chair under each arm. Troy and Ryan work together to transport the arm chair to the main room with minimal difficulty. Troy takes up the thankless role of being the one walks backwards, and is reliant on their partner to be their eyes, and keep them from stumbling blindly into a wall.

That Troy is so willing to trust Ryan to prevent him from tripping over a child's toy left lying carelessly in the hallway, overjoys Ryan, and increases his desire to prove that he's deserving of that trust.

The shelves are _heavy_, but it's nothing beyond what the three of them can handle. No, the _couch _is the piece of furniture that requires the most physical labor to get situated. As it always is.

Ryan is just about doubled over, and sort of feels as though he tore a muscle in either his shoulder or his calf, by the time the damn thing is set at the desired angle. Thankfully, Troy was there to alleviate half of the weight on Ryan's end by taking the adjacent corner. And, the physical strain is nothing that a session of yoga, and a nice, hot shower, can't fix.

When all of the other fixtures, such as lamps that Troy brought from his bedroom back in New Mexico, and a coatrack, are set up to meet aesthetic and feng shui standards, which, much to Ryan's surprise, Troy consults _him _on, the three of them flop onto the new couch.

Troy's head winds up on Ryan's shoulder. "Thanks a lot, guys," he says.

"Don't mention it," Ryan murmurs sweetly at the same time Joe responds with, "No problem."

"I really appreciate it," Troy adds. "I couldn't have done this without you guys."

Ryan searches for some way to inform Troy that he probably _could _have pulled the relocating of his furniture off without them. They have people who offer those services. But, Joe cuts him to the chase.

"Don't mention it, bro. You've helped me out big time at work, dealing with some of those grouchy old people, so it's no big deal."

Troy lets out a laugh, and Ryan smiles. He just might come to like Joe.

As a form of payment for their assistance, Troy buys Subway for Ryan and Joe, and for himself, after Ryan gives him a look with deeply concerned eyes and a curiously elevated brow. Joe eats quickly, and thanks Troy for the food. Troy brushes off the thanks, and they do a hand shake and that back-patting "man hug", thing.

Wondering what it might mean that Troy has never hugged him like _that_, Ryan wishes he had at least one person to consult on the situation. There's no script to follow, here, and his confidence regarding his improvisational skills isn't exactly high.

Joe departs for work, but not before calling over his shoulder, "Have fun, you two! But, make sure to keep things PG in public."

Troy laughs weakly, his face a shade not that far off from the brilliant red of his old Wildcats jersey. "I'm really sorry about him, Ryan," he says once the dark-haired male is out of ear shot. He crumples up the wrapper for his sub, and tosses it into a nearby trashcan with expert aim. "Some people don't have a functioning brain-to-mouth filter."

"It's all right," Ryan assures him, poking at the remains of his own sandwich. He's heard how lewd some of Sharpay's conversations with her trios of gal pals can get. Joe's innuendos are nothing compared to that, or even to some of the rumors about himself and his sister that he had the "pleasure", of overhearing as they circulated the hallways of East High. He chews the inside of his mouth, deliberating, then says, "I found the song for the assignment."

"That's great!" Troy's eyes shine. "I _knew _you'd figure something out."

The flattery makes Ryan duck his head in an effort to conceal the wide grin that threatens to dominate his face.

"So, do you want to go back to my place to show me the song? And, maybe watch a movie?" Troy asks. There's a glimmer of hope in his eyes that Ryan would die than extinguish.

He reveled in the chance to go off-book, and pen the script for his own life after high school, after all. "I'd _love_ to," he answers.

The beautiful smile that illuminates Troy's features is all the reassurance that Ryan needs to know that his answer was the correct one.

* * *

"This is really catchy," Troy says. He has one of the buds from Ryan's set in his right ear. Ryan has the other one in his left ear.

"Yeah, I think so, too," Ryan agrees.

As the lyrics to "King Of Anything", by Sara Bareilles register with Troy, he sits up straighter. He turns to look at Ryan, studying the blond's face and wearing an unreadable expression on his own countenance.

"How do you feel about performing it?" Ryan asks, his voice light and lenient.

Troy considers it for a second. "Pretty good," he replies, a hesitant smile tugging at his lips. "I mean, it's not a _complicated_ song."

"Oh, not at all!" Ryan reassures him.

"And, it helps," Troy says with a grin, "that I've got a mega-talented performer and choreographer to assist me." The song comes to its end, and he removes the earbud from his ear. His arm drapes across Ryan's backside, and he squeezes Ryan's shoulder.

Ryan finds himself leaning into the semi-embrace, in spite of the signal flare going off in his brain that tells him to take three steps back until he knows _exactly _where they stand. _Me? "Mega-talented"?_

Troy gets to his feet suddenly, stretching. The action causes his shirt to rise up enough to reveal the faint line of dark hair that trails down from his sun-kissed, toned abdomen, into the visible waistband of his navy blue boxers.

Perfectly aware that he's _staring_, and that his jaw is agape, but unable to seize the control of his motor skills necessary to _stop_ himself, Ryan has a rather nasty start when Troy announces:

"I'll be right back, 'kay?"

"A-Alrighty," Ryan responds, his heart experiencing palpitations. As Troy walks into his kitchen, the blond almost wonders if Troy is _teasing _him. He leans back, letting the cushiony fabric of the couch engulf him.

Sharpay would never let herself get this involved. Then again, it's impossible for Ryan _not _get involved. Even if keeping thoughts of tracing the indentations of Troy's _marvelous _six-pack abs with his tongue, from invading the forefront of his mind, is quite arduous. He closes his eyes, and, for just a moment, gives in. He fantasizes about clenching Troy's shoulder blades tightly as their bodies are joined with powerful thrusts. "Oh, _Troy_, " he mouths to himself, though in his mind, he's calling out, over and over, and over.

The sound of footsteps signals Troy's return.

Ryan's eyes flutter open to find the brunette standing before him, holding two ceramic bowls with silver spoons poking out of them.

"Here's your ice cream, just like I promised." Troy smiles. "D'you like cookies and cream?"

"Yes!" Ryan perks right up and takes the bowl being offered to him, from Troy, with a grateful nod.

Seemingly pleased with this reaction, Troy drops right back down onto the cushion immediately beside the one Ryan occupies. Ryan slides his Ipod into his pocket, and joins Troy in eating the _delicious_ treat.

"This is _really_ good!" Ryan exclaims, between mouthfuls. He must retain his manners.

"Yeah, it is!" Troy agrees enthusiastically. After his fourth or fifth spoonful, he inquires, "What movie do you want to watch?"

Ryan pauses in the middle of bringing his spoon to his mouth. He flicks his tongue almost self-consciously over his lips, considering the question. His answer is lost, however, as an observation takes center stage. "Troy, you…"

"What?" Troy asks, taking another mouthful of vanilla ice cream filled with Oreo cookie pieces.

"You have ice cream on your…" Ryan tries, pointing to his own mouth. His cheeks flush.

"My…? _Oh_!" Troy's eyes gleam mischievously. "_Here_?" He asks, licking at his lower lip.

"No." Ryan laughs.

"_Here_?" Troy points to his cheek.

Ryan shakes his head, biting on his lip in an effort to contain another huge, lovestruck grin.

"Is it _here_?" Troy asks, pointing to his nose, and moving in closer to the blond.

Just like that, Ryan can feel the mood shift. They aren't playing around anymore. "No," He replies quietly. His heart rate picks up, and his eyes fall again to Troy's lips, which seem to be drawing in closer and closer.

"Well…" Troy swallows, his long lashes veiling his ocean blue eyes. His tenor-baritone lowers, adopting a huskiness that sends heat shooting right between Ryan's legs. "I guess you'll have to help me get it, huh?"

"Guess so…" A moment after the words leave Ryan's mouth, he leans in, and his lips are pressed to Troy's. His self-control, his inhibitions, begin slipping away. He breaks the contact, and his eyes open to find Troy staring back at him from underneath his eyelashes, his expression dazed. Ryan leans back in and slowly, carefully, licks up the vanilla ice cream that wound up directly above the former basketball star's upper lip.

Troy lets a shaky gasp escape him.

Mental insults and second-guessing begin bombarding Ryan's brain. He opens his mouth, preparing to apologize, and even to get up and leave, only to have the battering cease, and the apology die on the tip of his tongue. Much like how the ice cream was dissolved by his salivary glands.

Troy captures Ryan's lips with a fervent passion, as if he's been starved for affection. And, maybe that's not far from the truth. Troy's larger, warm hands grip Ryan's arms, then his curvy hips, and Ryan's heart swells until his chest feels like it will burst. His world is Troy Bolton. The scent of Troy's cologne, the taste of his mouth and the sweetness of the chocolate from the Oreo pieces, the heat of Troy's skin, the emotions coming off of him in waves. Joy. Need.

…Love?

Ryan needs to know if that last, all too crucial element is present. He needs to get to work on his assignment. The deadline is looming, and while he's worked well under pressure in the past, these are the big leagues, and there's no room for errors. He needs some concrete proof that his future will turn out okay. But, his fingers stroke through Troy's hair, encouraging the brunette to come closer, and Troy moans softly before his tongue enters Ryan's very willing and eager mouth. And, it feels so _wonderful_, and so _right_.

Their ice cream will probably be vanilla and Oreo soup when they come up for air, but that doesn't matter as much as the firmness of Troy's sculpted chest, and the way his heart is pounding beneath Ryan's fingertips.

Ryan has an epiphany as Troy whispers, "Ryan…!" against the hollow of Ryan's throat, his body trembling.

_Maybe, both of us need_ this.


	3. Part 3

Part 3

_Keep drinkin' coffee_

_ Stare me down across the table_

_ While I look outside_

_ So many things I'd say,_

_ If only I were able_

_ But, I just keep quiet_

_ And count the cars_

_ That pass by_

Troy's brassy tenor-baritone has strengthened a bit, no doubt thanks to the theater classes that he had been able to take during the brief duration that he was at Berkeley. Yet, his voice is still every bit as captivating as Ryan remembers it to be. Troy, himself, is such an enthralling performer, that Ryan almost neglects his responsibilities as a choreographer for the second time.

The first time was during the rehearsals for Troy and Gabriella's big duet in the spring musical of their senior year. Ryan had gotten distracted by Troy being Troy to such an extent, he wound up providing the brunette with very minimal instruction.

This time, he _can't_ let himself be distracted. He hits the pause button on his stereo. "The choreography for this song needs to be very _emotive_. Some flashiness is necessary, but we still need to make sure that the emotions backing the lyrics stand front and center," he explains thoughtfully, gesticulating as he goes.

Troy nods along, watching his blond counterpart attentively. Even though Ryan is, more or less, simply thinking out loud.

Ryan places his hands on his hips, his brows furrowed as his eyes pass over Troy's _perfect _body. After a moment or so, something comes to him, and he breaks the silence. "Let's try this." He starts up the music again, and allows Troy to slip into the song. He watches as the music and the words move Troy, as the lyrics hit that nerve that, in turn, sparks the raw passion that makes Troy such a natural performer. "Good!" Ryan beams. "You've _got it_, Troy!"

As Troy immerses himself in the song, Ryan offers suggestions for posture, arm placement, and ball changes. Soon, however, Ryan inexplicably finds himself dancing with Troy. His hands are in Troy's, their fingers interlaced. The smile refuses to forsake its place on Ryan's face.

Troy sings the line, _I'm not the one who's lost, with no direction_, while staring into Ryan's eyes. The sheer _longing_ in the taller boy's ocean blue eyes steals Ryan's breath away.

Slowly but surely, Troy _is _finding his way. Ryan couldn't be happier for him if he tried. Yet, the blond can't help but to wonder, as Troy spins him around, if there's a chance that Troy is finding his way _into Ryan's arms_. As much as Ryan's head wants to cry out in protest at the very notion of this, his heart clings to the memory of Troy kissing desperately at his glossy pink lips.

_I'm writing my own script, now_, Ryan informs himself. _And, sometimes that requires imitating the example set by Troy Bolton. _

He doesn't need to add that Troy is prone to acting on impulse, which very often entails following the logic of his heart, instead of the lovely head sitting on his shoulders. And, that doing so hasn't always benefitted the former athlete.

* * *

A group of girls clusters around the counter. "You're _really _cute," one of them, a pretty blonde girl with highlighter pink polish on her nails, says while leaning over the counter.

"Oh, um, thank you." Troy smiles bashfully, his eyes fixed on the girl's face. As opposed to trailing downward to peer at her rather low-cut tank top.

Ryan watches from a nearby table, his stomach churning and his pulse unsteady. He tries not to focus on the blatantly flirtatious inflection that the girl used. _Some girls say things like that all the time. They don't have any intention of following through, or acting on it, though. It's just a little bit of fun for them. _Instead, he wills his attention to turn back toward a writing assignment, and away from how he can't fathom that those girls aren't bundled up for winter, when he's still shivering indoors. Even _with_ the heat provided by his cup of hot chocolate.

"You're new here, aren't you?" Another girl with auburn hair and a piercing in her right eyebrow inquires. She's dressed more reasonably in a hooded sweatshirt and capris.

Troy nods. "Yeah, I uh, just started working here about a month ago."

The blonde and the auburn-haired girl trade gleeful looks with their friend, a dark-haired girl clad in a sweater worn over top of a baby doll tank top, and a pair of capris.

"Well, cutie, if you ever need someone to keep you company, let us know, okay?" The blonde girl squeezes Troy's biceps. Her nails are ludicrously bright against his tanned skin, and Ryan's heart plummets.

He can almost hear Sharpay's voice reverberating throughout his skull, commanding him to get his ass up there and proclaim that Troy is _his_, that he's already staked a claim on that beautiful brunette piece of man, but Ryan doesn't "own", Troy, and more importantly, he could never bring himself to say such a thing even _if _he wanted to.

Giggling and smirking to themselves, the three girls depart, and Ryan gulps down more hot chocolate to stave off the urge to clench his fists tightly enough for his nails to leave indentations in his palms.

Ryan sees one of Troy's male coworkers looking after the girls, and giving the brunette a playful nudge. He realizes that if he doesn't want to lose Troy, and whatever it is that the two of them have,_ again_, he has to act.

And, _soon_.

* * *

"Hey there, good lookin'! What do you say to you and me grabbing a bite to eat? Maybe getting some ice cream down at the parlor, together? How about it?" Ryan shoots a gun shot point and a cheesy wink at his reflection.

His highly _unimpressed _reflection.

He can't say that he blames the face in the mirror for not being wowed by such a feeble attempt at wooing someone… in the manner of a fifties greaser? _Not even someone starved for affection, like Troy, would go for that!_

Shaking himself out, Ryan slips into another persona. His back straightens as he adopts a certain level of suaveness that _Ryan Evans _has never possessed. "Of all of the Starbucks in all the towns, in all the world…" he starts strongly, right at the peak of confidence. "You chose to work at the one that I just happened, by pure coincidence… to walk into," he finishes lamely. All pretenses of bravado are gone. Closing his eyes, he pinches his nasal cavity in exasperation. _Humphrey Bogart you most definitely are _not_. _

Once again, Ryan wishes he possesses Sharpay's ability to beguile with a flutter of her eyelashes, a playful shrug of her shoulders, and a coy smile. At this point, he'd settle for Troy's efficiency at winning people over with his magnetic personality and an inviting boyish grin. Or, hell! Simply having a fraction of their confidence.

He decides to give it one final try. _Play it cool_, he directs himself._ Cute. Sexy… _Batting his eyelashes, Ryan begins emulating his sister's flirting techniques. "Oh _my_, Troy! You're so _hot_! And, what _strong_ arms you have." Ryan pauses in the middle of tracing an imaginary Troy's biceps and forearm with his index finger, to giggle. "Wouldn't you like to sweep me into your arms, and carry me off into the sunset? I'll have daddy make the arrangements to build a castle, just for _us_." He catches a glimpse of his reflection and stops himself abruptly. His expression shifts to adequately communicate his terror. "That was _completely _horrifying."

The blond flops down onto his bed, silently admitting defeat. _Post-experiment Charlie Gordon had more game than I do_, he berates himself. Ryan can transform himself into another person with ease. _But, what's the point? Aren't you supposed to find someone who loves you for _you_? _A heavy sigh passes from his lips. He can feel the weight of the emotions that brought on the sigh compacting in his chest, and unsettling his stomach.

Yes, he wants to be a star. It's his life-long dream. _I need more than just that, though. I also want someone to love me. Shar receives attention from hordes of idolizers with minimal effort on her part. But, I want more than fans. I-I want someone to dote on me while I dote on them. Someone to hold hands with. Someone to kiss. Someone to dance and sing romantic duets with. Someone to watch movies with, drink fruit smoothies, eat ice cream, and cuddle with. I want someone that I can confide in. Someone who doesn't mind how awkward I am, and how flamboyant my clothes are. Someone who will catch me when I fall, and who will be there for me, like I'm willing to be there for him… That's not _wrong_, is it? _

He lies back, staring up at the ceiling, which he painted a very light blue, upon moving in. _I'm_ sure _that I found that person in Troy. He's _beautiful_, warm, friendly, and the sweetest, most dependable, completely non-judgmental guy that I've ever met. And, he genuinely likes me for _me. Ryan's thoughts shift focus to Troy. To every time that he's held Ryan's hand, and wasn't concerned with people seeing. To when Troy encouraged Ryan's decision to take up the mantle of Wildcat mascot, even though Troy's best friend and right hand man, Chad, and several of their other teammates were skeptical about Ryan's ability to execute backflips in the stifling fur-suit that Ryan estimates to have weighed about fifteen pounds.

_"_Come on, guys. Ryan is a lot stronger than he looks", Troy had insisted. Even though Ryan, himself, couldn't quite buy that, there was so much conviction powering Troy's words that Ryan straightened his spine and held his head up a bit. If only to provide enforcement to keep the basketball team from questioning their captain. "Besides, the previous mascot, Aaron, and I are gonna work with Ryan. I won't let anything happen to him."

"Yeah, I _bet_ you won't," one of the guys had muttered. The words were still distinct enough to be made out, however, and they provoked sniggering from several members of the team, Chad included.

Troy didn't even flinch. His only outward reaction to the insinuation in that comment was a light pink creeping over his cheeks.

He kept true to his word, of course. Troy worked at increasing Ryan's stamina and strengthening his muscles, and Aaron, a tall, lanky boy with curly blond hair, assisted Ryan with breathing exercises. Once Ryan was inside of the costume, Troy hollered out words of encouragement, and put himself on hydration duty, supplying Ryan with water after every five minutes, in order to prevent the petite boy passing out. Ryan did his best to nail every maneuver with expert precision. He wanted to make Troy _proud_.

He'll never forget the grin that lit up Troy's face when Ryan finally performed in full costume in front of the rest of the team, earning looks of amazement and even a couple of excited whoops and cheers. How tightly Troy squeezed his shoulder after Aaron removed the wildcat mascot's head, allowing Ryan to draw in labored gasps of air…

Then, Ryan recalls the unforgettable thing that happened during rehearsals the Friday before their senior prom: his body snug in Troy's arms as if it belonged there, as he guided Troy through the choreography. Gently informing Troy that he'd had the move down, all along. Troy leaning in, his ocean blue gaze full of desperation as he spoke those words that Ryan had agonized over for _weeks _afterwards...

_"You're easier to dance with than she is." _

Thinking about Troy increases the tightness in Ryan's chest until his heart aches almost unbearably. "But," he reminds himself, his tone sharp, bitter, "while I have no problem telling _myself_ how I feel about him, the fact is that the _me _that Troy likes is too shy and too humiliatingly fucking _awkward_ to be upfront about his feelings." Tears of shame, and something else that intensifies the ache in Ryan's heart, and further upsets his stomach, sting his sky blue eyes.

He buries his face in his pillow, preparing himself to let his frustrations with his inability to communicate his feelings, with his fear that he doesn't have what it takes to be a star, out. The ringing of his phone deters him. Scrambling upright, Ryan grabs the cellular device. His heart jumps into his throat when he reads Troy's name on the screen. "H-Hello?" He wills his voice not to give anything away.

"Ryan." The evident smile in Troy's inflection is replaced by concern. "You sound upset. What's wrong?"

_Tell him. "I love you, Troy." It's three words, Evans. _Say _it! _"N-Nothing." Ryan mentally kicks himself. _Coward. _ "I'm just…" He unleashes another heavy sigh. "I'm not exactly having the best night."

Understatement of the decade. Pesky tears blur Ryan's vision, and while he wishes that he could bury his face in Troy's chest, and be enveloped by the virile boy's strong arms, at the same time, he's glad that Troy isn't here to see him like _this_.

"Do you want me to come over?" Troy asks. There's so much sympathy and concern in his voice, he's just so damned _sweet_, that Ryan finds it becoming increasingly more difficult to keep a firm hold on his emotions.

"That's okay. It's too late. You-You have work in the morning… you know?"

_ "Hey_. Ry, my job isn't more important than _you_."

Ryan clenches the phone in a vise-like grip that turns his knuckles white. He inhales, and a sob very nearly escapes his throat.

"Ryan, you're…" Troy pauses. Ryan can hear him swallowing. He can envision Troy's brows knitting, his ocean blue eyes filled with soul-searing desperation, again. Desperation to understand, and to be understood. "You're the best friend that I've got. If something's wrong, you need to know that you can talk to me about it, okay?"

Just hearing those words helps to somewhat alleviate the ache in Ryan's heart. "Okay." An unsteady murmur is all that he can manage.

"Look," Troy says slowly, measuring every word carefully, again, "it _is _getting pretty late, and you have school, in the morning. I'll tell you what. You get some sleep tonight- a _full_, good night's sleep, Ry- and then we'll hang out tomorrow, and you can tell me about what's bothering you, 'kay?"

"Yeah," Ryan agrees. The hint of a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "That sounds like a plan." He'll be able to think clearly after a decent night's rest. And, just maybe, he'll have gained some courage by tomorrow.

"Great." Troy's tone is warm and affectionate, once more.

Ryan wishes for possibly the second or third time that he could curl up in Troy's voice, and take a wonderful nap there. "Troy."

"Yeah?"

"I just want you to know... you're the best friend that I've got, too." A few tears finally spill over and trail down Ryan's cheeks.

For a few minutes, Troy remains silent. Ryan imagines that the brunette is stricken by the words, unsure of how to respond to them. Then, Troy replies, his tenor-baritone soft, "If I was there with you, I'd kiss you goodnight."

Ryan smiles wistfully. "I'd kiss you, too. If I could."

"Goodnight, Ryan."

"Goodnight, Troy."

With Troy's words echoing in Ryan's head while he brushes his teeth, changes into his pajamas, and nestles under the covers, as if they're a track that the petite boy set to repeat, it honestly does feel like a "good night".

* * *

Scoffs.

Agitated clearing of several throats.

"Who put this boy on stage?"

"Ugh. Why won't he _hurry up_?"

Ryan looks out into the audience with widened eyes. He can see several people clustered together, whispering into each other's ears. Others are rolling their eyes and shaking their heads, exasperatedly muttering to themselves.

They're all talking about _him._

How he's failing miserably. How he's making a complete fool of himself. How he has no future in show business. How-

"Mr. Evans... _Ryan_."

The blond jolts, his heart missing a beat with such force, it sends a wave of intense nausea throughout his body. "Y-Yes?"

"Your line." His theater instructor, an older man, stares at him curiously, his eyebrow raised.

"Right. My…" Ryan forces himself to swallow as his throat is now unbelievably dry. "My line." He turns back to face his partner, and tries to recall the previously spoken sentence, in order to come up with a response. He draws a blank. His entire mind is terrifyingly _blank_. This has never happened before.

The whispering gets louder.

Ryan's partner for the skit shifts her weight from one foot to the other. A mixture of concern and impatience tugs at her facial muscles.

Ryan opens his mouth, intending to ask her to repeat her previous line, but the words are lodged in his impossibly parched throat. And, suddenly, it's difficult to breathe, and his heart is pounding at a sickening pace. _What's going on?! Is this- is this _stage fright_? This isn't-! _His train of thought veers wildly off the tracks when his stomach gives a violent lurch, and the_ awful _taste of bile fills his mouth.

There's no time to calmly ask for permission to go to the bathroom and puke his guts out. So, Ryan does what he's been doing as of late: he acts on impulse. His impulse in this situation is to dash off the stage, bolt out of the room, and to the nearest restroom as fast as his legs can carry him. The surprised murmurs and calls of "Where are you going?", from his instructor, might as well be falling on deaf ears.

He rushes into the nearest stall, kneels down in front of the toilet, and the contents of his stomach promptly vacate the premises. _Twice_. Shuddering from the vile aftertaste, Ryan staggers to his feet, and moves to the sink to wash his mouth out. While he's doing so, the bell to signal the end of the period rings.

As far as the petite boy is concerned, one thing has become abundantly clear: Ryan Evans does _not_ have what it takes. He has no business attending Juilliard with all of these other students who are so much more prepared than he is, and who can remain unaffected in the face of all of the pressure. _I didn't deserve to win that scholarship. That was a _huge_ mistake. _Tears stinging his eyes, he resigns himself to trudging back to the auditorium to retrieve his bag, before leaving for the day.

In his head, he can envision the scathing lecture that Sharpay would give him if she knew that her twin brother was just giving up. He wishes that she was there to yell at him, to scream at him, to _motivate_ him. Because, as of right now, he no longer has the will-power or confidence necessary to motivate himself, especially on an upset stomach.

On the way back, Ryan spots a familiar tiny brunette making her way down the hall, her arms loaded with books. He feels his heart skip a beat.

The girl stops and blinks, tilting her beret-adorned head of curls. "Ryan?"

"Kelsi." Ryan manages a tiny smile.

Kelsi Nielsen, the former composer for East High's drama department, and one of Ryan's first real friends, moves closer, her brows furrowed. "Are-are you okay?" She asks gently.

"I'm not feeling well," Ryan admits. "I was on my way to get my belongings, and head back h- to my apartment." He nearly said "home". For some reason, that word doesn't quite feel like it's applicable to his apartment in New York City. At least, not yet. Not now. "How are you?"

"Alright." Kelsi smiles softly, worry still visibly clouding her blue-green eyes behind her glasses. "It's nice to see you, Ryan."

"You, too." It is, even with the knowledge of the uncomfortable event that transpired at their senior prom remaining at the forefront of Ryan's mind. The composer is still shy and soft spoken, but she carries herself differently. She fits in here, among other students with a passion for music and the performing arts. Despite her complete surprise at being the recipient of the scholarship, Kelsi _belongs_ here. "Maybe, we could hang out some time?"

"Yeah. " Kelsi tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her cheeks flushing. "I'd like that." She holds Ryan's gaze until a realization hits her. "I've got to get to my composition class! I-It's that way," she stammers, giving a nod to indicate the intersecting corridor, as she resumes walking, hastening her stride. After moving only a few paces, away, however, she turns around. "I hope you feel better, Ryan!"

"Thank you." Ryan's stomach is still churning, but his heart feels a bit less heavy. He hopes that Kelsi can see that on his face.

* * *

The chiming of a bell announces Ryan's entrance. He knows he should be at his apartment, wearing comfy clothes, taking a dose of Peptobismal, and curling up for a nap with a bucket sitting nearby, just in case. But, he made plans with Troy, and illness or not, Ryan is not going to let Troy down.

"I'll take a carmel macchiato, and an egg salad sandwich, please," a man says, his voice discernible among the chatter of the other customers.

Ryan makes his way to a table, feeling extraordinarily light-headed. Once he sits down, he pulls out a copy of _Will Grayson, Will Grayson_ by John Green and David Leviathan, in the hope that immersing himself in the colliding lives of the two titular Will Graysons will keep his mind off of his upset stomach. As he reads, he partakes in some deep-breathing, in order to calm his racing pulse. If the nausea is stress-related, as he suspects, the last thing that he needs is to get himself all worked up.

A tenor-baritone that Ryan is no stranger to, says, just audibly enough for the words to be heard at Ryan's table against the far wall, "Hey, man. Do you think you could handle this one?"

"Yeah. But, you owe me, Bolton," another male voice replies playfully.

At that, Ryan peers up from the book to see Joe manning the register, and Troy, his green apron draped over his shoulder, as opposed to tied around his waist, headed toward his table.

_So much for not getting all worked up._

"Hi," Troy greets the blond warmly, as always.

"Hi," Ryan returns with equal warmth, despite his voice sounding disgustingly weak to his own ears.

"Everything okay, Ryan?" Troy leans in closer and murmurs in a low voice, his forehead creased slightly, "You're a bit paler than usual."

Ryan mulls over just how much to divulge, only to recall their conversation from the previous night. "I got sick. I had to leave school."

Troy blinks. "You threw up?"

Ryan nods sadly. Somewhere inside of him, he can feel his levels of self-loathing rising at the thought that Troy is imagining him hunched over, spewing vomit all over the place. _I'm so miserably pathetic. _

Much to Ryan's surprise, however, Troy doesn't recoil. Instead, he moves in and, in an instant, his warm palm is pressed against Ryan's forehead. Using his other hand, Troy lifts his side swept bangs up from where they fall along his right brow, and presses the appendage to his own forehead, to compare their temperatures.

Ryan can't stop his cheeks from flaring at the solicitous gesture.

"You _do_ feel kind of warm," Troy murmurs. He moves his hand away, and both of his arms return to his sides. His mouth twitches in thought. After a moment, he says, "I'll be right back, Ry. Okay?"

"Okay." Curious, and more than a bit confused, Ryan chews at the inside of his lower lip. He sincerely hopes that he isn't feverish, or _contagious_, for that matter. He'd _hate_ for Troy to get sick. _Maybe I _should_ have just gone back to the apartment, instead of stupidly exposing Troy to my bacteria. _He slumps down in his chair, pulling his hat down low to hide his eyes. _Why can't I do anything right?_

"Ryan... Hey, Ry."

Ryan stirs from a dream of Troy taking off his shirt and diving into a pool in his jeans, and Troy thrusting into Ryan on a bed surrounded by candles, right as Sharpay and Joe walk in on them. He can make out brunette hair, sun-kissed golden skin, and a pair of ocean blue orbs. Shifting into an upright position, Ryan rubs at his bleary eyes. "…Troy?"

"I went across the street and got you some chicken soup." Troy holds up a styrofoam container. "I also got you this." He sets the soup down on the table and presents a brownie.

"Ohh, Troy…! You didn't have to do that!" Ryan can feel his heart melting, and the liquid residue flooding downward, making his legs weak.

"It's no big deal." Troy smiles bashfully, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Chicken soup is the best thing in the world when you aren't feeling well, and I know how much you like brownies."

Ryan finds his eyes welling with tears that he can't fight.

"Ryan?" Concern fills Troy's voice. "What's wrong?"

"I don't deserve this." Ryan shakes his head. It's like there's a crack in the reservoir, and once the first gush of tears spills out, an unstoppable tidal wave of sadness follows them, breaking the wall wide open. "You're-You're so _sweet_, Troy, and I-! I'm just a-!" His lower lip quivers, his jaw clenching as he struggles to withhold a body-shaking sob.

And, how he hates himself, because he knows that he's making a ridiculous scene, that the other customers are staring, and that he's embarrassing Troy.

"'You don't deserve this'? Of course you do!" Troy insists emphatically. He drops into the seat across the table, and takes Ryan's hand into his. "Ry, where is all of this coming from?"

"I…" Ryan draws in a breath, trying to compose himself even slightly, before launching into an explanation. "I had a panic attack onstage, today. For the first time, Troy, I was aware of everyone staring at me, ju-judging me. I completely _blanked_ on my lines. My heart was pounding, it was hard to breathe, and the next thing I knew, I was puking into a toilet." He pauses, hiding his face in his hands. His cheeks burn with shame, and he's light-headed, once more. "The pressure has been really getting to me, lately, and… " He moves his hands from his face to murmur, staring at the lid of the soup container, "I-I just don't know if I have what it takes, anymore."

"Ryan, look at me for a second."

Ryan complies. What else can he do?

Troy's eyes lock on Ryan's as the brunette says, "Of _course_ you have what it takes. The scouts from Juilliard, they gave out a second scholarship, just for _you_. That _means_ something." He gives Ryan's hand a squeeze. "You're _so _talented Ryan, and you're completely devoted. More than that, though," he adds, his eyes sparkling with the same passion in his words, "you've got a huge heart. Look at how you went out of your way to help me ever since I got here.

The blond prepares to object, to argue that he hasn't done all that much, that Troy's had to handle the brunt of the work on his own, but Troy cuts the protest off before the words can take form on the tip of Ryan's tongue.

"You've got something that the world wants, Ryan. I _know_ you do, and I believe in you."

"You… you _do_?" Ryan asks disbelievingly. He swallows the lump tightening his throat.

Troy smiles encouragingly. Invitingly. "_Yes_," he says firmly enough to erase any doubts. His thumb caresses Ryan's knuckles.

A smile breaking out on his face, Ryan sheepishly ducks his head. Already, the burden weighing on his heart is being lessened. Troy Bolton believes in him. Simply knowing that is enough to give him the confidence to perform in front of the world's toughest crowd.

"I've gotta get back to work," Troy says, standing up. He moves around the table to stand in front of Ryan, not letting go of the blond's hand the entire length of the circuit. "You're going to eat that soup up before it gets cold, and get well soon, right?"

"Right." Ryan beams softly.

Troy grins and brings Ryan's hand to his mouth, where he places a light kiss on the slender appendage. "That's what I like to hear."

"HEY!" A voice booms over the intercom, causing both of them to jump. Simultaneously, they turn to find Joe calling over to them from behind the counter. "What'd I tell you two lovebirds about keeping it PG in public?" He grins impishly, his eyes twinkling as if this is all in good fun.

Troy tosses his dark-haired co-worker a look that gives Ryan the distinct impression that the brunette is considering flipping Joe off, "all in good fun", but seems to ultimately decide against it. "I'll see you when I get off work," Troy promises, his voice lowered.

"I can't wait," Ryan says.

Just like that, the weight on his chest is gone.

* * *

"I think Captain Jack Sparrow is one of Johnny Depp's best characters." Troy shifts on the couch, his arm moving from where it rests on the top of the piece of furniture, to drape itself across Ryan's backside.

Ryan shakes his head, a smile of adoration tugging at his lips. A former athlete enjoying an action-adventure flick about pirates is to be expected, but it's still incredibly endearing to Ryan. A fizziness, a sort of effervescence, takes over his stomach. He knows for a fact that it isn't nausea, though. After lying down for two hours, he found that the nausea vanished, and his slight fever went down significantly.

If there _was _any risk of contagion, he wouldn't be sitting in such close proximity to the taller boy.

"I don't know." He smiles shyly. "I kind of prefer Edward Scissorhands."

Troy blinks meditatively, and is silent for a moment. "Yeah," he says slowly. "Yeah, I really like Edward Scissorhands, too. But, his story is really kind of… _sad_, you know?"

Ryan's heart twists with sympathy for the pale boy with the scarred-up face and numerous blades attached to his wrists, whom just wanted to fit in with his foster family. Despite his unfortunate appendages causing him a world of trouble, he still remained kind-hearted, of benign disposition, and more than willing to help out others, right up to the end. "I-It _is_ sort of a suburban tragedy…" He trails off. Considering all of the sad stories that he has encountered throughout his life, including the very nearly-tragic life story of the person sitting beside him, Ryan feels his throat tighten.

"Call me a sap, or whatever, but I've always been a fan of happy endings," Troy murmurs softly.

"Me, too," Ryan replies, his voice just as quiet, but still teeming with passion.

Behind a curtain of long black lashes, Troy's strikingly blue eyes fall to Ryan's lips.

Ryan ignores the objections his head raises. He doesn't give himself time to hesitate, and, in fact, surprises himself by being the one who initiates the kiss, this time. His pulse throbs in his temples out of fear for an instant, but Troy quickly responds to the kiss, drawing the petite boy into him.

Heat and happiness emanate from Troy's firm chest, and, for the moment, everything is right in Ryan's world.

* * *

_Who cares _

_ If you disagree?_

_ You are not me_

_ Who made you king_

_ Of anything?_

_ So you _dare

_ Tell me who to be?_

_ Who died and made you _

_ King of anything?_

Troy's voice swells magnificently with every ounce of the passion backing the lyrics.

_YES. Tell 'em, Troy!_ Ryan exclaims mentally, a grin dominating his face. He motions along, just in case Troy needs any assistance with the choreography, but, just as before, Troy's zeal drives the brunette. He has the choreography _down_. Every step, every sway, every spin.

Moistness glistens on Troy's eyes, and his chest heaves as he sings softly;

_All my life, I've tried_

_ To make everybody happy_

_ While I just hurt and hide_

Unexpectedly, however, a sparkle ignites in Troy's eyes, and he begins crossing toward Ryan.

_ Waiting for someone-_

On "someone", he takes hold of Ryan's hand and brings the blond before the camera, where he picks him up and twirls him around while finishing the phrase.

_ -to tell me_

_ It's my turn to decide_

Troy lowers Ryan and leaves a feather-light kiss on the corner of the petite boy's mouth, an unspoken "thank you". With a smile and a reassuring wink at Ryan, Troy prances off to resume the choreography.

Something about their dynamic has shifted ever so slightly. How recently the shift occurred is up for speculation, but something is noticeably _different_. Maybe it's the fact that they moved from platonic hand-holding in high school, to not so platonic mouth-to-mouth contact?

_Are we…?_ The thought crosses Ryan's mind as he stares after the brunette. For once, a resounding confirmation fills his head. A smile plays on his lips.

* * *

Applause breaks out in Juilliard's auditorium as the footage of Quyen's choreography, an elegant ballet routine set to "Gravity", by Vienna Teng, comes to a close. Quyen beams, dropping into a bow before the rest of the class. The artificial dewdrops on her lavender flower barrette reflect the lights, creating the illusion that they're sparkling. She catches Ryan's eye as she comes back up, and he mouths, "Brava!" happiness fizzing inside of him.

"Excellent job, Ms. Tranh!" Mrs. Belmont declares. "Your choreography was very inventive."

"Thank you!" Quyen gasps, her cheeks rosy with pride.

Mrs. Belmont turns and nods to Ryan. "Mr. Evans, you're next."

Ryan jumps to his feet, swallowing. This is it.

Quyen passes by on her way back to her seat. She touches his shoulder reassuringly, whispering, "Don't worry. I'm sure it's _amazing_."

Ryan nods and smiles back at her. He concentrates on steadying his pulse as he moves toward the projector, pulls his laptop from his bag, and connects it to the machine. _I believe in you. _Troy's voice echoes in his mind, ringing with enough conviction to dispel Ryan's nervousness.

_I believe in you, too, Troy. _

The image of Troy standing in the studio floor space of Ryan's apartment fills the screen. "King Of Anything", starts playing. Troy's tenor-baritone is pitch perfect, and his timing on the choreography is _flawless._

By the time Troy has reached the chorus, Ryan picks up the sound of rustling behind him. He turns to see, much to his surprise, several of his classmates are bobbing their heads to the beat. Quyen earnestly taps her foot, her eyes alight, and Mrs. Belmont nods along in what appears to be approval.

A smile starts spreading across Ryan's face. He just dares to hope that he has this, that he's going to receive passing marks. He watches as Troy pulls a short, hat-wearing blond boy with curvy hips on screen, and his heart leaps at the memory of being in those arms. Of that soft kiss. Of the gratitude shining in Troy's eyes.

A few people clear their throats.

Two or three girls let out muffled giggles when Troy winks.

A flush creeps over Ryan's cheeks and the back of his neck, in response.

Onscreen, however, Troy is back to the choreography. His movements are fluid, borderline effortless. They're a lot more complex than the moonwalk Troy utilized during his callback audition for _Twinkle Towne_, and that can be owed to a combination of his improvement as a performer… and, yes, Ryan's instruction.

Pride swells in the blond's chest. He bites back a grin when Troy says, his shoulders back, his head held high, and his eyes glowing, "Let me hold your crown, babe."

_I- I really_ have_ helped him!_ Ryan realizes at last.

The moment the footage concludes, applause ascends. To Ryan's great astonishment, his project even garners a handful of cat calls. He cups his hands over his mouth and nose, all but overcome. _They… They _like _it?_

"Alright. Settle down." Mrs. Belmont shakes her head lightheartedly, gesturing as she speaks. She looks to Ryan with a hint of a smile on her lips. "Well, Mr. Evans, I have to say… that was absolutely wonderful!"

It takes a moment for the words to register, but when they do, pure, unbridled joy erupts inside of Ryan with force enough to bowl his petite body over. "Th-thank you!" He gasps.

"Your choreography was very passionate, and your partner is quite the talented young man."

To restrain the impulse to gape with a slack jaw and his eyes blown wide, Ryan latches on to the latter half of the compliment, because it's directed at Troy. "Yes. He is," he agrees.

Silence seems to stretch between them for several moments before Mrs. Belmont informs him, "You can sit back down, now."

"Right! Of course!" Ryan smiles nervously, embarrassed with himself, and carefully disconnects his laptop from the projector. "Thank you so much!" He calls back as he heads to his seat.

The woman shakes her head, an amused smile on her face.

Ryan drops back into his seat and turns back to meet Quyen's grin.

"See? What did I tell you?" She mouths.

She was right. Just like Troy was. As Mrs. Belmont calls up the next presenter, it sinks in that, just maybe, Ryan Evans _does _have what it takes.

* * *

"Troy!" Ryan bursts in the door to Troy's apartment. He dashes up to the former athlete, and envelopes him in a tight embrace.

"He-ey!" Troy addresses Ryan cheerily, returning the hug. "How did it go?" He asks.

"I passed!" Ryan exclaims. His knees are trembling with joy.

Troy nuzzles in closer, his nose brushing against Ryan's earlobe. The contact incites the trembling to intensify. "I _knew_ you could do it, Ry."

"The rest of the class loved you." Ryan says, his palm flat against the ever-so enticing musculature of Troy's broad upper back. "My instructor, Mrs. Belmont, even made a point to inform me that my partner was very talented."

"Mm, is that right?" Troy pulls away just enough to take Ryan's face in.

Ryan bites down on his lower lip to contain a grin. "Of course."

Troy breaks into a smile that makes his eyes sparkle.

"Oh! Before I forget, I brought you something." Ryan rummages through his jacket pocket and pulls out a wad of aluminum foil.

Troy blinks curiously. He takes the foil after Ryan gives him a nod of encouragement. "Are these-?" He starts as he adroitly unwraps his "parcel".

"Ch-Chocolate chip cookies. Yeah." Ryan shuffles his feet. "I baked them myself, especially for you, as a token of my gratitude for you taking such good care of me, the other day."

Troy's smile widens, and a sound akin to a laugh of disbelief escapes him. "Hey, that wasn't…" He starts, then trails off, shaking his head. His eyes are moist as he brings Ryan into a snug one-armed embrace. "Thank you, Ryan…! You're the _best_." Troy pecks the petite boy's cheek.

Heat creeps across Ryan's visage. The embrace has knocked his hat askew, but Troy thinks that Ryan is "the _best_", Ryan's face is tingling from where Troy's lips made contact with it, and Troy is _happy_.

And, that takes precedence.

* * *

The ball ricochets off of the backboard, bouncing easily into Troy's outstretched and waiting hands. He steps back and takes another shot that sends the ball sailing through the air. This time, it falls right into the net.

Ryan looks up from his essay on Aldous Huxley's _Brave New World__, _and smiles.

"I'm a little bit rusty," Troy says, twirling the ball on the end of his middle finger with expert finesse, then tucking it under his arm."But, what do you think?"

"It looks to me like you've still got it, Troy."

Troy smiles and pushes his bangs out of his eyes.

A gust of wind sweeps through the tiny lot. Ryan reaches up and holds his hat in place on his head. His thoughts stray once again to Albuquerque, to his own mother and father, and how _proud _they were when he told them how well he had done on his first assignment. That's when it strikes him. "Troy. Pardon me if I'm being invasive by asking, but do your parents know you're here?"

Troy goes still. His eyes widen, and Ryan knows, without either of them needing to say anything, what the answer is. Troy rifles through his jean pockets, pulling out his cellphone. He crosses toward the area in front of the chain link fence where Ryan is seated.

Ryan meets him halfway, and silently takes the basketball from the brunette for safekeeping.

Apprehension fills Troy's features.

Ryan touches his shoulder reassuringly. "I'm not going anywhere," he promises.

A hint of a smile quirks up the ends of Troy's mouth. He nods, and then flips his phone open, the gesture reminding Ryan to look into getting Troy an updated cellphone. Both of them hold their breath as they await an answer.

Despite his best efforts not to eavesdrop, Ryan's ability to concentrate on his essay decreases with every second. His fingertips trace over the rough orange rubber of the basketball, and the black indentations that form the signature stripes. He can't help but listen in as Troy's conversation begins.

"Hello? Hi, dad… I'm great, how are you?" Troy pauses and rubs at the back of his neck while he listens to his father- the Phys. Ed instructor and basketball coach at East High- 's response. "That's awesome. Hey, uh, dad? I have something that I need to tell you." Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan can see Troy shift his weight. "I'm in New York City… No, not on a class trip. I kind of, uh… I'm living here, at the moment… Well, things didn't exactly work out at Berkeley." There's that tightness to Troy's voice that makes Ryan's heart wrench. "It wasn't my grades, dad. It was-it was _Gabriella_. Things just kind of fizzled out really fast between us, and…" His voice drops. "We're not together, anymore."

From what Ryan can make out, Coach Bolton's inflection is sympathetic on the other end of the phone.

"No, it's okay. I'm doing great, dad. Honest." A smile is audible in Troy's voice, again, and Ryan lets himself relax briefly. "I've had someone _amazing_ here to help get me back on my feet." To Ryan's confusion, Troy tenses suddenly, and quickly turns back to look at his blond counterpart. "No," he says slowly, carefully, "_he_'s not really a girl."

Ryan's heart skips a beat, but in a pleasant way, at the acknowledgement of his relationship with the beautiful former golden boy of their high school. The love that Ryan had deemed unattainable at some point during the summer of their junior year, after his first attempt to win the athlete over had blown up in his face.

Now, Troy is openly admitting to his father that he's living in New York and seeing another boy. And, that other boy just happens to be a certain petite blond with curvy hips and an affinity for hats.

It doesn't take much guessing to figure out what the senior Bolton's next question is.

Ryan inhales, and doesn't exhale for several seconds as Troy drops the bombshell. "Actually," Troy rubs at one particular spot on the back of his neck, as if the entire muscle is stiff, and he's working to remedy that. "Dad, you already know who he is… It's Ryan. Ryan Evans."

Ryan grips the basketball tightly, the names of the social tiers in _Brave New World_ melding together as he listens for a signal, a cue that everything is still okay.

Troy's voice has receded to a low murmur. His words are hard to make out, and both sides of the conversation are lost to Ryan's ears. Minutes, that feel like hours pass by, and Troy ends the call and makes his way back to Ryan.

Finally, Ryan exhales a shaky breath as he looks up to meet Troy's eyes.

Troy is grinning, his eyes glowing. "My parents want you to join us for dinner on Christmas!"

A sound like a squeal escapes Ryan. He jumps up and ecstatically wraps his arms around Troy, leaving the basketball to bounce a few feet away.

* * *

Ryan absolves that it's his turn to treat Troy. After stopping briefly at their respective apartments to drop a few things off, to change clothes, as there is a grass stain on the seat of Ryan's jeans, and Troy's shirt has sweat stains, and, in Ryan's case, to pick a few things up, the pair enters the Starbucks where Troy is employed. They take comfort in the fact that it's Joe's day off, and they'll be able to be reasonably intimate without worrying about outside interference.

Ryan approaches the counter and, despite his pulse picking up a bit, he smoothly orders two hot chocolates.

Troy nudges him while grinning softly, to congratulate him for his progress. With his arm draped comfortably across Ryan's lower back, he gently steers the blond toward a table. "I thought you should know, Ry, I've started applying for colleges," he says. "If things work out, I'll be attending classes at the start of the next semester."

"Hey. What's with this "if", talk?" Unable to contain the grin at Troy's good news, Ryan nudges the taller boy's cheek ever-so-softly with his head. He does so carefully, to avoid knocking his own fedora off. "You can do _anything_ that you set your mind to, Troy."

Troy blushes. The smile not leaving his face, he leans in and nuzzles his nose against Ryan's. "What would I do without you to boost my ego, babe?"

_"Babe."_ This is a new development. Ryan decides that he quite likes it. Although, there is something else about Troy's words that puts him ill at ease. The same "something", that caused a shell-shocked Troy to follow his_ first_ girlfriend and borderline sociopathic high school sweetheart of less than two years, to college. "Let's hope that we never have to find out," Ryan replies, reciprocating the affectionate contact.

Their order comes up and Ryan gets up to retrieve it. He returns to the table to find that Troy has moved his seat so that it's beside Ryan's chair.

His heart-warmed by this, Ryan carefully removes the lids from both cups and extracts a Ziploc bag from the pockets of his jacket. He unzips the bag and takes a handful of white blobs out of it.

"Marshmallows?" Troy asks, an incredulous smile on his face.

"Yep." Ryan smiles and breezily drops several of them into Troy's cup.

Eagerly, Troy takes hold of the cup and, after blowing on the liquid to ensure that he won't scald the interior of his mouth, gulps some of the contents down. "I haven't had hot chocolate with marshmallows since last winter, when my mom made some for me. Thank you so much, Ryan!"

"No problem," Ryan remarks quietly. Troy's delight is so infectious, Ryan can't help but smile as he drops a peppermint candy into his own cup. He watches the chocolate-flavored liquid seep over the hard little white circle, slowly engulfing it, as the two flavors intermingle. "Hot chocolate, marshmallows, and peppermints just compliment each other really well."

"Yes, they do." This time around, Troy licks the remnants of his sip of hot chocolate off of his upper lip without needing assistance.

* * *

Later that evening, as Troy's tongue is hungrily exploring every inch of Ryan's mouth, Ryan can taste the sweetness of the hot chocolate and marshmallows, and it mingles with the tingling sensation that the aftertaste of the mint induces on his tongue. Troy's hands are warm, earnest, as they roam over Ryan's backside. They finally stop at the blond's rear, and both boys emit groans as Troy makes the bold move of squeezing both cheeks of Ryan's butt.

Ryan thrusts forward instinctively, getting another moan out of Troy.

"Ohh, Ryan… _fuck_."

Ryan bites down on his lower lip. Every sound of fervent yearning that is coming from Troy's mouth is affecting him in a way that he never would have thought possible. His hands slide under Troy's shirt, and his thumbs trace circular ministrations over the former athlete's firm pectorals.

Troy's breath rate increases, his irises darkening. "Ryan…!" He gasps out, as if that name is the only thing tethering him to reality. He leans in and covers Ryan's jaw in needy kisses, then recaptures Ryan's mouth with his own.

_Keep breathing_, Ryan reminds himself as heat surges downward, causing his pants to grow significantly tighter.

"Ryaaan." Troy slips his fingers into Ryan's belt loops, and gently tugs the performer forward. Their pelvises collide. The delicious friction sends heat rushing down, down. Even now that their relationship has progressed to this point, it's still a bit of shock to realize that Troy is _hard_,_ Troy Bolton is aroused_, and panting, and turned on, and it's all because of _Ryan Evans_. And, just in case Ryan needs to be reminded that he isn't dreaming, the evidence is right there, tenting Troy's jeans as it presses against Ryan's own unfathomably hard erection, practically begging for attention."You're… you're so _amazing_, and _hot_." Troy's hips twitch as he speaks.

"Trooy…!" Ryan just about yelps. He can't handle the compliments. He _can't_. He'll lose control, and start crying, or begging Troy to make passionate love to him, or do something else to make an ass of himself. So, he takes this as a cue to counter the motions of Troy's pelvis. The blond grinds against the brunette, his desire to be touched, for skin to meet skin, rising.

Troy muffles a desperate outcry. "Ry, Ryan,_ please_. Please, babe. I _want _you…!"

They're words Ryan that never _ever_ believed that he would hear. "I want you, too, Troy," he whimpers. He reaches for the waistband of Troy's sagging jeans, and his fingers fumble over the zipper and the button. The only thing standing between Ryan, the flesh of Troy's lower body, and the chance to satisfy Troy, is two layers of clothing. _You can do this. Come on_.

Troy rakes in a shaky gasp as Ryan succeeds in undoing his fly. He assists the blond in yanking his pants and his boxers down his waist, well past his thighs.

That column of flesh springs up and Ryan's heart catches in his throat, nearly causing him to forget how to breathe. "Holy sh…!" He starts. He can't help but marvel over something that he never thought he would see outside of the realm of his own deranged fantasies.

"Wh-What's wrong?" Troy asks. He tenses suddenly, worry creeping into his inflection.

Ryan reminds himself that Troy's self-confidence is still inexcusably low, thanks to Gabriella's influence. "Nothing," he assures him in what he hopes is a sweet, lilting tone of voice. "It's beautiful." He tilts his head up so that his eyes meet the eyes of the taller boy. "You're so _beautiful_, Troy."

The assurance seems to have the desired effect. Troy's muscles relax, all but one, that is, and Ryan eases him down onto the couch. "I…" Troy laughs weakly. "I haven't exactly compared myself to anyone else."

"You don't need to," Ryan replies. His eyes take in the trail of dark hair leading down to Troy's beautiful cock. Then, he takes in the muscle, itself, in all of its glory. He wants to touch it, to stroke it, to do something to make Troy feel good. Unbelievably good._ Troy deserves it._ Tongue flicking nervously over his upper lip, Ryan asks, "Is-Is it okay if I…?"

"Yeah." Troy nods, his breath rate picking up again. "Yeah, _please_."

Ryan drags one finger slowly, carefully, over the shaft and the head of Troy's member.

A loud moan peals out. Troy moves one of his hands from where it is, clenching the material of the cushions, to clap it over his mouth.

Ryan gives a jolt and looks up for an indication that he's done something wrong.

Troy lowers his hand. "You're- You're fine, Ryan. That just… feels really, _really_ fucking good."

His confidence restored, Ryan resumes lightly caressing Troy's shaft.

Troy reclines, letting out an encouraging stream of, "Yeah. Yeah. That's-! Ohh, _yes_… Ryan…!"

This is incentive enough for Ryan to make his own bold move. Taking a deep breath, he dips his head and opens his mouth, thankful that he lost his gag reflex one morning in the eighth grade, after trying far too hard to force himself to get sick by violently jamming his toothbrush down his throat, in the hopes that his mother would let him stay home. Such an idiotic act was brought on by a desire to avoid the group of kids who deemed it their mission to make his life a living hell. That was their method of retaliating against his openness in regards to his sexuality.

Mindfully, Ryan takes Troy into his mouth.

His heart just about stops as a moan of unadulterated _pleasure_ escapes Troy. "Ohhh, _Ryan_! Aaah!" Troy lifts his right hand off of the couch and squeezes Ryan's shoulder, urging the actor closer. "That's so _good_…!"

Gradually, Ryan moves his head, allowing Troy's flesh to slide against his tongue and his teeth. All the while, he's both perfectly aware, and still can't quite believe, that Troy Bolton is completely _unraveling _on the couch that Ryan Evans helped him pick out. And, _he_'s responsible for it. Troy throws his head back, letting out moan after moan, and Ryan is so in love with him that it _hurts_. Almost unbearably. _Oh my- _fuck_! _Ryan thinks to himself. His own cock is straining against his too-damn-tight-what-the-hell-was-he-thinking-choos ing-to-wear-them lavender skinny jeans, pleading for attention and release.

It's only a matter of time before one of them can't stand it anymore, and erupts. At the rate they're going, Ryan is convinced that Troy's voice, filled to the brim with a carnal type of ecstasy, and the sight of Troy writhing with gratification, alone, are going to be enough to get him off.

But, Troy has other plans in mind. "Ry…!" He gasps. "L-Let me…"

Ryan removes his mouth from around Troy's cock, gently swiping his tongue over it one last time.

Troy lets out a groan, and hauls himself upright. He pulls Ryan onto his lap.

Ryan moans softly as Troy gets to work on unfastening his belt. His fingers and knuckles keep brushing against the front of Ryan's jeans, magnifying the ache shooting along the blond's manhood, and making the wait too much to endure.

"Shit…!" Troy mutters when his hand roughly grazes the edge of that damned button.

"Are you all right?" Ryan nuzzles Troy's cheek.

"'m fine. I just-" A noise of triumph exits Troy as he, at last, succeeds in popping Ryan's fly. "-need some practice," he finishes with a proud smile. He slips his hand inside of Ryan's close-fitting boxer briefs, and-

"Aaah!" Ryan cries out.

"Does that feel good?" Troy asks, uncertain.

"_Yes_!" Ryan blurts out. Normally, he would be embarrassed by his lack of shame, but Troy just makes him feel so comfortable. And, the two of them have already exposed so much of themselves to each other. Troy needs the affirmation, anyway, and Ryan would do anything to make Troy happy.

Troy takes up the signal to commence in his actions, because he's always been a fast learner.

Ryan loses himself in the sensations of Troy's hand closed around his most sensitive muscle, Troy's lightly calloused fingers stroking him, like Ryan, himself, would gently tickle the ivories on a grand piano, and of Troy's beautiful cock pressing into his ass as Ryan arches back, his hips countering the skilled movements of Troy's hand.

This unique sort of euphoria lasts for a duration that feels almost infinite, before Troy exclaims sharply, "Ry! I-I'm gonna-!"

Just like that, it's over. Troy comes first, but, much as Ryan thought, the sound that Troy emits while he climaxes is enough to bring Ryan to release, as well. Spent, he buckles against Troy's chest and nuzzles into the crook of the brunette's sun-kissed golden neck. A sudden, _intense _feeling of vulnerability steals over him. He needs comfort and security.

Relief displaces the anxiety, as Troy wraps his arms around Ryan. As if he is aware of Ryan's needs, and perhaps, they're needs that he shares.

"Thank you," Ryan breathes, placing a light kiss on Troy's neck.

"Thank _you,_" Troy whispers back. He kisses Ryan's temple softly, his voice thick, almost sleepy-sounding.

Ryan is tired, too. _But, I'll leave if I have to._

"Ry."

"Mm?"

"Do…Do you wanna take a shower, and then go to bed? You can stay the night, if you want to," Troy murmurs, turning to look at his boyfriend.

A wide smile overtakes Ryan's face. "I'd _love_ to."

Troy returns the smile, looking so content, so_ happy_, that the misery that was once present in the depths of his gaze and the downturned corners of his mouth, almost seems like the product of a bad dream.

As for this? Well, before Ryan joins Troy in the shower, he pinches himself discreetly, just to make sure that he isn't having another dream; one that feels too good to be true.

* * *

With ABBA's "Honey Honey" playing in his head, Ryan stirs. He notes briefly that the mattress underneath of him, and the quilt wrapped around his body, feel _different_. Rolling onto his back, he stretches, and finds himself staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Before panic can onset, memories of the previous night resurface, booting out the disorientation.

He came back to Troy's apartment, yesterday. Now, he's waking up in Troy's bed and wearing what is, most likely, Troy's clothes. Ryan questions himself, _Did I somehow step into an alternate dimension between now and the last month, or so?_

"Hey, babe," that voice that he could pick out, even among all of the voices in a choir, greets him easily. Turning, Ryan meets the sight of Troy smiling at him, before the brunette leans down to place a kiss on Ryan's forehead.

"Hey, you. Good morning." Ryan smiles back, trying not to melt.

"Morning," Troy returns. "I have something that I have to do, today. It won't take long, I promise. But, I was wondering if you wanted to join me for breakfast, first?"

The fact that Troy feels the need to assure Ryan that whatever business that needs to be tended to, "won't take long", causes Ryan to bite the inside of his mouth. He knows who to blame for that, and he wishes that he could subject her to a soul-piercing Evans glare. "Of course I'll join you for breakfast," he answers earnestly. How could he refuse?

Troy grins. "I was hoping you'd say that." He pauses, then says, "You don't mind borrowing some of my clothes, today, do you?"

"Not at all." Troy's clothing preferences aren't exactly Ryan's style. However, they're certainly far from "ugly", or "unstylish", and the garments in question have the unique distinction of being _Troy's_ clothes.

"Great." Ryan's response seems to please Troy. "I know they're not as cool as your clothes, but…"

"It's totally fine, Troy. Don't worry," Ryan assures him.

Fifteen minutes later, Ryan emerges from Troy's bathroom, dressed in a plaid button-down shirt, a sweater, and a pair of jeans that almost feel too baggy for his frame, to find Troy offering him a bag from Burger King. There isn't a hat on Ryan's head, and he honestly feels somewhat naked, but he makes himself push that mild discomfort aside.

It seems to take some effort for Troy to stop staring at Ryan with his mouth slightly agape, but after a couple of seconds, he clears his throat. "I, uh, I got you some French toast sticks and apple slices. And, some cinnamon rolls for us to share," he says, his inflection uncertain. "I-I hope that's okay."

"That's_ wonderful_. Thank you." Ryan smiles and takes a seat beside Troy, who happily scoots over to accommodate him. While dipping one of the French toast sticks into the small container of syrup, Ryan flushes at the memory of what transpired on this very couch the previous evening.

He reels at the thought that Troy Bolton, of all people, finds him attractive enough to be intimate with, and yet… it happened.

"So, Ry, " Troy prompts between bites of his sausage, egg and cheese croissant sandwich, "how is Kelsi doing?"

"She's good. She's doing really well at school." Ryan thinks back to a few days ago, when he and Kelsi ate lunch together.

She showed him a piece of music that she was working on, and her eyes sparkled as she exuberantly gushed about how her compositions had garnered attention and respect from several of her classmates, as well as her instructor. "I thought I would just fade into the background here, like I did at East High, but I actually stand out, Ryan. It-It's incredible!"

"Really?" Troy asks, his eyes lighting up.

Ryan nods. "Believe it or not, she stands out at Juilliard. Her talents are finally getting the respect that they deserve."

"That's awesome." A soft smile graces Troy's features. "I don't know if I ever told you, Ryan, but I'm _really_ happy for the both of you." He pauses, and the smile fades slightly. "Only…"

"'Only', what?" Ryan asks softly, sidling in closer to search Troy's face.

Troy shakes his head. "Forget about it."

Easier said than done. Troy is leaving something unsaid, and, naturally thatleaves Ryan wondering. He doesn't persist and begin questioning Troy, however.

"You know," Troy adds with an adoring smile, "your hair looks great."

"Really?" Ryan flushes and smiles shyly.

"Yeah. I mean, don't get me wrong, no one can rock a hat like you, but," Troy reaches out and gently ruffles Ryan's blond hair, "hey, sometimes, it's all right to flaunt what you've got."

"Yeah," Ryan murmurs in agreement. That is the lifestyle philosophy that he and his sister adopted; letting the world know of their natural flair for the performing arts, even if some people find their talents objectionable and deem them traits worthy of alienating the siblings for displaying. Even if other people seek to tear them down… Ryan lightly nudges the former, and possibly soon to be once more, athlete. "The same goes for you. Don't be afraid to show the world what you can do, either, Troy."

Troy nods. "I won't," he affirms quietly.

* * *

"Oh _dear_! My cat has run off and gotten himself stuck in a tree! Won't someone _please_ help rescue him?" Ryan's partner, a girl with short purple hair and gray eyes, exclaims urgently in a singsongy English accent. She presses the back of her hand to her forehead, pantomiming a faint.

"Worry not, love!" Ryan assures her, adopting an English accent, as well. His voice rings out confidently in Juilliard's auditorium. "I shall take whatever measures are necessary to save your feline friend!"

"My hero!" The girl squeals. She reaches out to place her hands on Ryan's chest, her character meaning to fawn over his.

Ryan quickly steps aside, refusing the affectionate gesture. "Ahhh, the cat _first,_ my dear." He hurries off stage left in search of a ladder, leaving his partner baffled.

This elicits a few laughs from the audience of their peers.

From his place out in the house, the course instructor gives an approving nod. "Well done, Mr. Evans, Ms. Newell."

Mandi Newell exchanges a smile with Ryan.

Exhilarated, Ryan turns from her to peer out into the audience. Yes, there are some judgmental looks on the faces of the people occupying the seats, but this time, he's not going to allow those looks to affect him. This time, Ryan joins Mandi as she dips into a bow, and he eagerly welcomes the sound of applause washing over him.

* * *

His messenger bag heavy with recently checked out books from the library, Ryan begins walking up the steps to enter his apartment complex. His head is filled with the delightful images of curling up in bed with Troy during the chilly winter nights, and immersing himself in a good book. He stops briefly to kick a layer of freshly fallen snow off of his boots. Hearing someone slam down on the horn of their vehicle, however, causes him to halt completely, and whip around.

"Watch where you're going!" The driver of a red sports car sticks his head out of the window and hollers at an instantly recognizable brunette with sun-kissed golden skin, and a voice that stole Ryan's heart.

"Sorry, man," Troy Bolton, Ryan's_ boyfriend_, replies, swiftly dodging around the front end of the car, and making his way to the sidewalk. Thankfully, unharmed.

Ryan releases a breath that he wasn't aware he was holding. As he and Troy approach each other, Ryan informs the taller boy with a racing heart, "Troy, you know that you can't pull stunts like that. What if you had gotten yourself hurt?"

Troy rubs at the back of his neck, his gaze and intonation apologetic. "I'm sorry, Ry."

Ryan brushes off the apology. "It's all right." He bites down on the inside of his lower lip, and reaches out to lightly touch Troy's chest. "As long as you're okay…"

"I'm fine," Troy assures Ryan, closing his somehow still warm hand over the blond performer's. "Don't worry. And, no one else got hurt, either." Pink colors Troy's cheeks. "There's just something that I _had_ to tell you!" He says excitedly.

"What is it?" Ryan asks, smiling in spite of himself. As always, Troy's joy and excitement are contagious. He squeezes Troy's hands, anticipation coursing through his veins.

Troy pauses for dramatic effect, then exclaims, "I got into Juilliard! I'll be starting classes there next semester."

It takes a moment for the words to process. "You…!" Ryan can feel Troy quivering with elation. Troy's eyes are sparkling fiercely, a grin dominating his countenance, and then it hits Ryan like a landslide. "Oh my _GOSH_! _Troooy_!" Tears of unbridled happiness sting his eyes. He emits a squeal, flinging his arms around Troy's neck, and presses a celebratory kiss to Troy's lips.

Troy smiles into the lip-lock, his arms winding around Ryan.

* * *

Ryan and Kelsi look up from their conversation about Kelsi's latest musical selection, to find a girl with sleek, shiny black hair that just brushes against the tops of her shoulders, standing at the end of their table.

"Do you mind if I sit here with you?" Quyen Tranh asks, offering them a friendly smile.

"Not at all," Ryan says, offering her a companionable smile of his own.

Quyen's face lights up happily.

Kelsi and Ryan push their books aside to make a space for the girl. While Quyen engages Kelsi in a conversation about Kelsi's "cute", hat, causing the petite composer to blush, Ryan looks on with a smile, internally rejoicing at the knowledge that, come January, Troy Bolton will be joining them.

* * *

The sounds of cars rushing down the street, horns blaring, and people shouting to each other fill the air.

"Almost makes you wish you packed a pair of ear plugs, huh?" Troy leans in to murmur to Ryan.

"I've dreamed of living in New York City my entire life," Ryan starts dreamily, "but," he pauses to let out a sigh, "I will admit, it's not always easy to get a decent night's sleep here."

"Am I any help with fixing that?" Troy asks with a smile.

"You _know_ it," Ryan answers him jovially. Together, they ascend the steps into Troy's apartment building. "Truth be told, though," he continues as he holds the door open for Troy, and receives a look of astonishment and a grateful nod from the taller boy, "it will be fantastic to return to New Mexico, and see everyone, again."

The welcomed heat on the inside of the building warms Ryan almost instantly. He's very thankful for that.

"Yeah." Troy flicks his bangs out of his eyes and slides his hands out of his jean pockets. "As much as I'm looking forward to that, I'm honestly kind of… _scared_."

Ryan stares, stunned. "Of what?" He asks gently.

Sadness clouds Troy's eyes and they fall to the floor. His voice drops to just slightly above a whisper. "The 'I told you so's… the looks of disappointment."

Something shifts within Ryan, clearing the way to allow a realization to rapidly surface. The words, the behavior that contorted Troy's view of himself, that might very well have broken him, they run deeper than Gabriella. Gabriella Montez was merely the straw that broke the camel's back. _A decidedly _effective_ straw._ "You got into _Juilliard_," Ryan reminds the brunette. "If anyone is ignorant enough to be disappointed in you for being accepted into one of the most prestigious performing arts colleges in the _world_, then that's _their_ problem, Troy."

"You saw the way Chad and the guys laughed when Ms. Darbus announced that I was one of the contenders for the scholarship, Ry," Troy says, tremors creeping into his inflection. His eyes are blown wide and filled with unease. Just like that, his mind has been catapulted back into a place where his insecurities can easily overwhelm him.

Indignation heats Ryan's blood at the recollection of the mocking laughter that Troy's "friends", Zeke Baylor, Jason Cross, and Chad Danforth had unleashed upon hearing their captain's name, that day. It was as if the mere thought of a revered athlete like Troy Bolton attending a performing arts university, was the epitome of hilarity in their close-minded vantage point.

Once again, he forces all thoughts of bone-headed stereotypical jocks aside. Now isn't the time to contemplate their stupidity.

Ryan steps forward and cradles Troy's face in his palm. "They're _assholes_," he says softly but firmly, failing at not allowing his anger to seep into his words.

Troy flinches, as if he associates some terrible memory with the sensation of someone's hand on his face.

Ryan nearly withdraws, fearing that he's upset the former athlete, but Troy eases into the actor's touch."Forget about them," Ryan resumes. "As long as _you're_ happy with all that you've accomplished, their opinions are irrelevant."

A tear streaks down Troy's face, dampening Ryan's palm. "I wish I was brave like you, Ryan," he all but whispers. "You don't let the fear of other people judging you, keep you from doing what you love, and being who you want to be."

Ryan shakes his head, his heart having missed a beat. _Me? _Brave_? _"Troy, you _are_ brave," he insists. "You were willing to defy the status quo at East High when no one else had the courage to. And, let's not forget that you were willing to come to New York City, all by yourself, to escape a bad situation. Ohh, Troy…" He moves in to press his nose against Troy's. "You're_ so_ brave."

"Ryan, I…!" Troy nuzzles his nose against the blond's, his body trembling lightly. He reaches out, and massages the back of Ryan's neck with his strong right hand. "I _need_ you," he whispers.

The urge, the desire to utter those three, incredibly meaningful words, just about crushes Ryan. He opens his mouth, but the phrase refuses to be given a voice. It's as if a barrier is in place, preventing him from saying what desperately needs to be said. _I love you, Troy._ Ryan swallows, his chest aching at his incompetence, and heat pooling in the lower half of his body. It looks like he'll have to settle for the closest thing possible. "I_ need_ you, too."

This exchange is the precursor to the pair heading to Troy's bedroom where Ryan assists Troy with the removal of his sweater, and covers the virile boy's chest in soft kisses. Blissful shivers traverse the length of Troy's body. He reaches down and tugs Ryan up to line the blond boy's throat with kisses, and gentle nips.

His heart racing with happiness, Ryan lets out a low moan, clenching Troy's shoulder blades. "Oh, Troooy… Troy…!"

Troy unbuttons Ryan's shirt, leaving a kiss on each inch of skin that he exposes, and drawing moan after moan from the actor. He pauses briefly when he reaches Ryan's navel, and helps Ryan out of his dress shirt. "Mm, Ry…"

"Y-Yes?"

"Stop me if this is crossing a line, but…" Troy swallows. He stares intently into Ryan's eyes. "Are… Y-You're a virgin, right?"

"Yes," Ryan replies, his voice soft. He ducks his head sheepishly. "There weren't exactly any openly gay guys at East High. At-At least as far as I knew."

"I'm one, too." Troy says without any prompting.

Hiding his surprise isn't an easy task for Ryan.

Shyly averting his eyes, Troy traces lovely little circles on Ryan's hipbones with his thumbs. "I know it's kind of hard to believe, but Gabriella and I never got past first base."

Possessing knowledge of the true nature of Gabriella's relationship with the boy that she referred to as Wildcat, instead of his given name, while she was being "affectionate", with him, Ryan finds that entirely believable. "Hey, that's okay." Ryan tilts Troy's chin up, his eyes meeting the brunette's. "If you're ready, we can…" Suddenly overcome by a bout of embarrassment, Ryan leaves the rest unspoken. He just dares to hope that Troy will pick up on the meaning behind his words.

Naturally, Troy grasps exactly what Ryan intended him to. "I'm ready," he says, and he nods, his voice full and certain.

Troy needs some coaxing and reassurance before he enters Ryan. Once he does, though, Ryan loses himself quickly and easily in the thrusting of Troy's hips. In the incredible heat that surges through his body every time Troy manages to brush against a particular spot. As his hips buck up to meet the hips of his boyfriend, his _partner_, Ryan's passionate cries nearly rival the volume of Troy's.

Troy locks eyes with Ryan, his gaze teeming with tenderness, while his fingers stroke Ryan's arms and body. It's as if he means to communicate to the blond performer that there isn't anyone else on his mind.

Or, in his heart.

As the two of them begin a gradual descent from the peak of ecstasy into the valley of the real world, Troy buckles against Ryan, and wearily nuzzles against the blond's heated cheek. His shaggy hair is slightly damp with perspiration, but Ryan doesn't mind. He hugs Troy tightly to him, loving every inch of Troy Bolton with every fibre of his being. Love mixes with the ecstasy, creating a concoction of emotions that intoxicates him.

In this state of delirium, the words that Ryan is unable to say, echo endlessly throughout his mind as he snuggles into Troy's warm, secure embrace, and buries his face in that firm, sculpted chest.

Perhaps, one of the echoes is Troy murmuring that he loves Ryan, too.

And, perhaps, even the suggestion that Troy requites Ryan's feelings is merely the output of a sleep-clouded brain.

* * *

Ryan takes a deep breath. _This is it,_ he tells himself. No hesitating. No sudden loss of speech. No struggling to get the words out of a dry, tightened throat. Despite all of the odds stacked against him, he's already come this far. He's not going to allow any obstacle to stand in his way.

Including _himself_.

Double-checking his watch, he ensures that Troy's shift at the Starbucks has ended before walking inside.

"Yo, Bolton!" Joe hollers upon spotting the blond, despite the fact that Troy is only standing a few feet away.

"Yeah?" Troy asks. He finishes removing his apron and approaches the taller, dark-haired male while sticking a finger in his ear, as if affirming that his ear isn't ringing.

Joe grins. "A certain _someone_ is here to see you."

His brows furrowing curiously, Troy peers past Joe to find Ryan. A joyful spark lights his eyes. "Hey, Ry!"

"Hey," Ryan returns, locking eyes with Troy. He shuffles his feet, and chastises himself for being so interminably awkward. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Joe looking back and forth between the two of them.

Maybe there is something in Ryan's gaze, or in the air, itself, that informs the dark-haired male of the gravity of what is, hopefully, about to transpire. A smile on his face, Joe ducks out, declaring, "I'll leave you guys alone."

Simultaneously, Ryan and Troy expel sighs of relief.

"So, Ry," Troy begins, reaching for his jacket, "is there something you wanted to talk about? I was going to head over to your place, and-"

_Say it! _A voice, not unlike Sharpay's, orders him. "I love you, Troy!" Ryan blurts at last. For a moment, the world seems to fall silent. He can hear the blood pulsing in his ears and feel his heart thudding in his chest. Then, comes the ensuing avalanche of self-deprecation. _You _idiot_. Why would you say that?! There's no way that he would _ever_ feel the same way about-! _Ryan is so caught up in mentally berating himself, it takes a few seconds for him to realize that his hand is in Troy's, and that Troy's fingers are interlaced with his. Silencing his inner voice, Ryan looks up, his eyes wide with incredulity.

"I love you, too, Ryan," Troy says, his voice full of warmth and sincerity.

"R-Really?" Ryan sounds more choked up than he likes, but his emotions are overriding his self-control, like they always seem to in Troy's presence. Maybe it's a good thing that, somehow, someway, Troy has always been able to bring down his protective outer walls.

"_Really_." Leaning in, Troy touches his nose against Ryan's. Tears glisten on his long black eyelashes, but the smile on his face denotes that the emotion fueling those tears is purely positive. "How could I _not_ love you, babe?"

Ryan tears up a bit, himself as he returns the smile. He can't quite believe what he's hearing, but he could never doubt Troy. _Never_.

"What do you say we head on over to your place, and I help you pack for our trip back to New Mexico?" Troy offers, slipping an arm around Ryan's backside and steering the petite blond toward the door.

Still buzzing with confidence from the success of his confession, Ryan says, "How about we save that for tomorrow, and we go to your apartment? We can order a pizza, and…!"

"Cuddle?" Troy finishes with a grin.

"Yeah." Ryan blushes. It's like Troy read his mind.

"Sounds like a plan to me." Troy leans in, and Ryan arches forward on his toes to meet him. Their lips press together, the sensation vaguely reminiscent of the feeling of squeezing a marshmallow, and every bit as sweet as eating one.

-_ Fin _-

* * *

**A/N: Salutations, my dear readers!**

**I offer you my sincerest apologies for taking so long with this final installment. I can only hope that the content of this stage of Ryan and Troy's journey more than made up for my extensive procrastination. **

**As always, every review, every word of encouragement and support means more to me than words could ever express. I write because I feel that I have a story worth telling, but what good is a story worth telling without an audience to share it with?**

**It truly is an**_** immense**_** honor to have you as my audience. I have plenty more stories to write, and I'm really hoping that you'll be willing to let me share those stories with you, as well. **

**Until next time, I give all of you my best regards. **


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